The Smokebombs Are Giving Me Cancer
or: A Day in the Life of a Ninja


It's 5:30 and the alarm wakes me up. 98.6FM (the 24-hour Koto music station) wakes me from a crazy dream about crowded public transport and boardroom meetings. Urgh. I feel like slaughtering them all in a senseless orgy of blood-spattered depravity. But then again, who doesn't?
Anyway, I'm quickly out of my ninjamas and head downstairs for some breakfast.
It would be nice to have a girlfriend or wife to have food waiting for me but the ninja life is a solitary one. Oh, don't get me wrong - a ninja can get busy with the ladies. Not like those Shaolin fags. The problem is that whenever you get something going on, some villain kidnaps her and you have to fight your way through waves of wacky adversaries to get her back. And when you finally beat the boss, your significant other turns into a mutant and attacks you or your brother gets her.
My last steady girlfriend was grabbed by hippies, and she was bringing home some brews to watch the game with, so I was doubly pissed. My friend Ryu said he'd help (his real name's Raymond but he thinks it gives him a credability problem) but you know, I just couldn't be bothered any more. She wrote me a while back and told me her commune had been raided by the ATF 3 times now. Apparently that's a good sign that a cult is developing nicely. I wished her well and sent her some novelty shurikens shaped like weed. Should be a blast with the kids.
This is RV-583, he lives next door. There's a lot of tension between us, although he's never anything but cordial.
"Hey man", he'll say, but I really know he's thinking "must kill all humans." I mean, I'm not racist or anything but you know what robots are like. Unless they are destroying something they are never truly happy. Sure, on the outside they are all "a help to all mankind" and "are you gonna drink that used motor oil?" but deep down they want to exterminate all life. I get on pretty well with his wife, though. Sharon is quite pleasant really, and bakes a mean meatloaf.
Anyway, RV-583 is still an improvement over the guys that lived there before. Coming home all hours of the night and singing loud songs about sodomy. Parking their huge boat across my driveway. I tell you, don't believe the hype - a pirate's life is for NO-ONE!

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 After breakfast I brush my teeth and get in some quick training before work. There's nothing like a bit of jumping about to loosen the muscles.

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 By this time it's dark enough for work to begin, so I grab my stuff and head out for the night. Work's kinda cool. I'm not really my own boss, ronin just isn't my style, but I do get a bit of leeway when it comes to the execution (pun intended.) Unless of course the boss has some signature kill he wants done. Like "Slasher Horton" always wanting lots of sword-work, or the massive bone breakings requested by "The Crusher". The less said about "Donny the Dildo" the better.
Now, you can't rush these things or else it turns into a bloodbath instead of a precise surgical strike. You need to check the place out and bide your time. I've seen some rookie guys just run through a house with smokebombs going off left and right, making a complete arse out of it. No style, just wholesale destruction.
You don't get respect like that. The cleaner comes into work the next morning and has to deal with all the blood and vomit - she sure as hell won't respect you. If this kind of thing makes it to the boss you can kiss your pinky finger goodbye.
Anyway, tonight's job is a signature kill. The boss wants me to use one of the traditional methods for that truly authentic Japanese look and feel. Fair enough, I don't mind getting back to my roots every now and again.
Here's me going in for the kill and giving it the traditional Japanese finish.
Well, that's a job well done and time for home. The ride on the bus is pretty quiet - I usually get a seat all to myself. Sometimes you get some weirdo next to you who rabbits on about aliens, God, or bowel disease. You even get a clever mix of all three on the odd occasion. I find that the best solution to this is to ease my katana out of the scabbard and mutter about the time of purification being at hand. Never fails.
Think I might avoid sitting near the zombie. Last time I made that mistake I ended up with a pancreas in my lap. Wouldn't have bothered me too much except it was followed by about 8 inches of distended rectum. Phew, the stink. What do those guys eat?
Just as I get back home I hear what sounds like raised voices coming from RV-583's place. I sneak over (hey, I'm a ninja - I can't help myself) and take a peek through the window.
Bloody hell, it looks like RV is giving Sharon a bit of the old robofist. I tell ya, he gets a bit mean when he's been on the diesel and tonight looks like a hum-dinger. Still, I know better than to get between a robot and his missus so I leave them to it. Mind you, I might mention it to Sharon when she's hanging out the washing (and RV's at work.) I'm sure she can get support for this sort of thing.
Anyway, once home it's time for some relaxation so I fire up the Xbox and slap in Super Tekken Mathfighter. Here you can see I've unlocked the secret boss Eminem but he's no match for the awesome Brain Blaster from Stephen Hawking. In fact it's a flawless victory in the end, which is hardly surprising.
After that it's dinner and then sit down with a few records and get my ninja groove on. You can't beat the old vinyl for that classic sound and I'm shown here getting down with my bad self to the unmistakeable beats of Alan Gardiner. I don't know if you've ever heard his kicking mixdown of Machine Gun Fellatio's Pussy Town but it rocks.
And finally it's time for bed. I hope you got an insight into the ninja lifestyle, and perhaps you'll decide that this is the career for you. You never know, perhaps I'll see you around. True, it isn't for everyone - if you haven't already killed a man by the age of 12 then perhaps you should try something else. But if you have a killer instinct and the sadistic trophies to prove it then maybe you have what it takes.
Just remember to stay in school, and don't do drugs.

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