Here’s what needs to happen:
I need to train a chimp to mow lawns. That way, I can go get my groove on while the simian kicks the lawn care. Then I can… wait. That idea is awful.
Where am I going to get a chimp? It’s not like they have a primate section at Petsmart. Plus, the whole idea of forced servitude gives me the willies. I’d probably fuck up as a manager at Arby’s, so how the hell could I pull off animal slavery? I mean, let’s be reasonable here.
Instead, here’s what needs to happen:
I need to find a desperate clutch of fine-ass ninja chicks, which are looking for quick work. I’ll convince them to mainline insecticide, and pull lines of Drano until they agree to knock over a series of Clinique counters. They can keep everything but the blush.
No. That won’t do either. I don’t even know where I would get the right insecticide for ninjas anyway. They’re so damn particular.
In reality, what I honestly need to happen:
Write-write-write. My computer is fixed. Motherboard, LCD, and video card: all replaced. The only thing left to croak on the fucker is the hard drive. Rather than wait for that to happen, I need to pull everything off it and wait for it to descend into doorstop hell. That’s what needs to happen. Must cover my ass. And then, then? THEN?...
Then, I shall continue to write my crap. I’ll start with some waxed-up poetry. Something sweet, like
Met with two “nine” salutes -
To settle such mad disputes,
He shimmies up the pipe,
To pick at what’s ripe.
But with mysteries all gone,
Along with all hopes to move on,
He’ll settle against the squad,
And still wonder about their god.
But I should really be working on the long-assed stories that were almost lost, that were eating away at my brain while the computer slept like the dead. Those stories, all in my head, but neatly down in type on the drive, are the valve for my brain’s main drain. I need those words to keep the shadows back. To read, and re-read. To consider, and re-consider. To wish upon and concurrently curse.
Now they’re back. In all honesty, that’s what I needed to happen.
Honestly.
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19 comments:
I say go with the Ninjas. You never know when you are going to need a good Ninja.
You make a strong point there, Deb. I should reconsider my scraping of the ninja plan. They could be extremely handy around my crib. What with all the laundry, yard work, and knife-wielding burglars hanging about. I still need to find the right insecticide though. Damnit.
Nothing wrong with some fine-ass ninja-bitches.
I'm gonna get me some hot samurai guys.
Not that this is a contest or anything, but I'm rather confident that my ninjettes would destroy your samurguys. No doubt. Hopped up on Drano to boot.
I'm not saying your ninja-bitches don't stand a chance. I just think that my Samurai-guys would emerge victorious. They are so tough the ninja-bitches could take their shit!
Samurai are more about tradition, legacy, politickin', and the art of warfare. My ninjettes, while also a great garage band, are first and foremost: cold-blooded killers.
They would schedule the fight for tomorrow, and then kill your samurguys tonight, while your dudes were on the pot. That's how these girls will roll. Cold. Blooded.
Huffing Drano.
This has gotten out of hand. Everyone knows that ninjas totally take out all samurai. There's no contest there.
Boy, don't write a cheque that your fly-ass ninjaette bitches can't cash!
And, my Samurai, while laying down some dope ass funk tracks, would make those bitches sorry they ever stepped to the Samurai. Then they'd drop some knowledge on them.
Oh, my Samurai don't play!
Word.
Oh, it's like that? Wha?
These ninjettes of mine are also a top-notch breakin' crew. They wreck shit. Whilst amid murder and mayhem. They coo' like that.
So your little samurguys best not sleep tonight. Or take a crap (again, the ladies enjoy a good knifin' on the commode - who doesn't, am I right?! Sure I am.). 'Cuz they're bringin' the rain come dark time. Booyahkashah, blood clot, and all that mess.
Word? WORD.
Oh it's like that! That's the way it is
My Samuraiguys will bring a storm of sword play like it's day after tomorra,
scatter your ninja-bitches, so far no one can falla.
Say your prayers, their shit is biblical.
Biblical? Then they shall be smote. Smoted. Smited? Smitened?
Whatever. They'll poppa a canna whoopass and get blasted by brewed botulism.
'Cuz my ladies bring the pain, never sane, with a mad knife and fork. For yous and them screwed crews, best just roast to toast like pooooooooork.
That'd be bacon. I can smell it already. Word to that.
I’m a tell this to you slow, cause it seems you don’t unnastan’
Boys so fierce
So tough
So hard
Ninja-bitches unna their feet like sand
Samurai boys, they go berserk
Chomp ninja-bitches like a Jamaican Jerk
Suck ‘em like a mango pit
Ain’t no one can test their shit
Show the world what Ninja-bitches already know
Samurai boys can kick dem ass Fo Sho!
Play time’s over, eh? (that’s canuck-speak, eh?)
Aiyight you done. Did it. Now.
Dem samu-shmos gonna get tags fo’ dem toes.
When me ninjette ladies is done stompin’ nuts,
And yo’ samurai sistahs are cryin’ from cuts,
Then the real show be showin’ as clouds gather round,
And like Voltron unitin’, they combine and compound,
With skillz outside yo’ samufairies’ minds,
Fo’ realz from inside yo’ menz eyez goin’ blind,
Like some witches brewed it, like magic and wands,
Cuz they shit be on that wild-out level beyond.
So bring you a barrel.
So you wheel your sam-bitches out.
After my ladies done beatin’ that lame ass,
You’ll understand what it’s about.
(arms in the b-boy fold)
Tell Ninja gyal get runnin’ cause they gon stuff you like a turkey.
Tuck their tail up quick, They gon turn it into jerky
Come down on dem dere hard like the G-Force crew
Rip Ninja girls apart, ‘ain’t no use for crazy glue
Turn dem into Sailor Moon and give ‘em to a toddler
Hit dem so hard, gonna make ‘dere mamma holla
Hot swords too sharp have them cryin’ like a baby
Broken bones and black eyes like they name is Lionel Ritchie
Run gyal run, don’t go call yo daddy,
He’d come and get cha, bitches but he’s workin’ as our cabbie.
Your mama needed work she’s sewin’ up our robes
And seasoning our pepper steaks with cinnamon and cloves
Don’t cry, baby girl I can’t stand the whinin’
Gonna bring my sword down on you with expert timein’
Ninja-chicks ain’t nothing, the Samurai’s the Mac,
Pack up belts and masks, bitches, you know the game is stack
(tough B-Boy stance)
Not to rekindle the Age Old Debate, but what about Pirates vs. Ninjas?
Samurai are cool and all but really now. Picture the Ninja star flying across the deck, landing firmly in a wooden peg leg. Arrrr, we must be close to Ninja Isalnd, mates!
Ninjette bombs be the bombs like: smart,
And they’ll arrange your boys’ parts into art.
Stackin’ limbs like pancakes in the place,
Pourin’ kerosene into the holes in they face,
Then blastin’ your fools like powder keg fun,
And then doin’ a dance number, after it’s done.
Like BLADOW!
Oh my.
Mad tears.
Why try?
I already done told ya.
Your boys could lead cheers.
Samurais at the party?
Ninjas piss in their beers.
And they’ll smile and then take it.
Like the Afghan herders did.
Because they know they’ll never make it.
No one takes out Ninjas, kid.
They got stars, and nun-chucks, and crazy bows and shit.
Yo’ half-tard boys suck, you really should push to quit.
There ain’t no Lone Wolf and Cub.
There ain’t no Kurosawa up in this piece.
There’s just some phantoms up in the club,
And your boys, bleedin’, and screamin’ like matin’ geese.
Thass right. Wh-Wha?
Ninja Island? That's the best place I have ever heard of. I'd buy a timeshare there.
How about some Kung Fu masters? I'm guessing the ladies behind the Clinique counter will be Kung Fu masters and might give your ninjettes a run for their makeup.
Hmmm... Kung Fu Masters may be a challenge. I'd make sure the ninjettes had plenty of smoke bombs, just in case they needed to make a quick escape.
Man. This has officially gotten out of hand. I need to write another post, to stop the madness...
It does not ever get funnier than this. Never.
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