Alternate Definitions

1. Coffee (n.), the person upon whom one coughs.

2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.

3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.

6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absentmindedly answer the door in your nightgown.

7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.

8. Gargoyle (n.), olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. Flatulence (n.) emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.

10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.

11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.

12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. Pokemon (n), a Rastafarian proctologist.

14. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), The belief that, when you die, your Soul flies up onto the roof and gets stuck there.

16. Circumvent (n.), an opening in the front of boxershorts worn by Jewish men.



Via hystericalgypsy

Earth's Greatest Mystery Revealed: Anatomy Of A Balloon Dog

Long have I pondered the inner workings of balloon animals and how their various organic systems might function. I've got a good concept of what a balloon snake or a balloon platypus might look like on the inside, but balloon dog was always just outside my mental grasp. Many thanks to Jason Freeny for enlightening me on the finer points of balloon art.



Via Laughing Squid

The Cure for the Common Crazed Soccer Mob

Police in Manchester, UK have released closed circuit tv footage showing a crapload of soccer football stupid looking sport fans rushing some cops after a match. BBC News has the video here. You can also find stuff on YouTube

The Manchester police handled it pretty well, due to their familiarity with drunken asshole hooligan control techniques. However, I would like to make a sugesstion to Manchester's finest. If you guys had some ninjas on the rooftops/lurking within the crowd those people would be marching in lockstep, going home to sleep soundly, or possibly engage in acts of domestic violence. The whole place would be cleared out like 15 min. after the match was over, and you lads could be posted up in your favorite armchair, downing some brewskis, or possibly committing similar acts of domestic violence. Doesn't matter, my point is that you certainly must have some Ninja contacts somewhere. Use them! F'ing call up James Bond, keep that old fart on his toes. I will say that the amount of restraint you guys showed was impressive. Not to ninjas of course, but average concerned citizen guy is probably impressed. Seriously though, last week, some guy threw some trash at my head, and he didn't live to see whether it hit me or not. Hint: it didn't. So next time you're faced with an out of control mob, throw that restraint junk out the window and do it to 'em Ninja style.

Death To Small Annoying Dogs And The Corporations That Endorse Them

There are a few things in life that awaken the Ninja within me and alter my usually genial disposition to one of remoresless killing machine. Haha, just kidding. I'm a Ninja...I'm always a remoresless killing machine. And the slightest thing will set me off on a frenzy of decapitation and unsolicited limb removal. This video was responsible for the deaths of 47 of my fellow co-workers today. Damn you Disney! And damn those little dogs! For fellow Ninja readers, don't watch the video if you have any loved ones/objects you don't want destroyed in the immediate vicinity.



This isn't over Disney....it is now my personal Ninja duty to destroy all evidence this film ever existed. It is for the good of society that you shall be unceremoniously stripped of your fancy trappings and left wallowing in your own despair. Prepare for destruction.

Addendum: Taco Bell will be spared a similar fate as they provide wholesome nourishment at affordable prices. They have repented from their ways and have curried the favor of the Ninja.

The Daily Musings of Shuruku Umezawa: Junior Salesman, Ninja

Eric Feezell has beeen granted the great honor of transcribing the daily notes of Shuruku Umezawa, a Ninja employed as a junior salesman for a commodity brokerage. Avgar Ninja sympathizes with his plight and wishes swift death upon his enemies. His story is continued at McSweeney's Internet Tendency.

Monday, March 6

Began new job today as junior salesman at commodity brokerage firm. Took two hours for anyone to notice I had arrived at work. Receptionist lady, Fran, made facetious comment as I went on restroom break. "You're very quiet, Mr. Umezawa." No shit, Sherlock. I am a ninja.

Tuesday, March 7

Today at work no better than yesterday. I am being pressured already to do things I do not wish to do to make sales. Other salespersons say to me constantly: "Get out there," "Mark my calendar," and "Help me help you." I know not what such sayings mean, but they make me extremely uncomfortable.

I wish they would refrain from such horrible directives. I am tempted to mark furiously all of their calendars in shuriken rampage. Alas, though, this is not the way of the ninja.

Wednesday, March 8

Discovered beautiful girl named Alicia works in mailroom. Hung invisibly from ceiling and spied on her for 20 minutes before mustering courage to say hello. For this, I am remorseless, of course. Stalking is in my nature.

"Hello," I said. "I am Shuruku, newest member of sales team, stealth warrior trained in the ancient art of ninjutsu. You are?" "Oh, you mean like in Mortal Kombat?" she replied. "My boyfriend, Ken, plays that all the time on Xbox!"

Damn Ken. Damn that silly game. Will I ever live this down? Probably never. People still ask me for codes to Shinobi, and this confounds me greatly. Is not Sega Genesis long since defunct? This is ridiculous.

Thursday, March 9

Pushy woman from human resources demanded my presence at 11-o'clock meeting. I arrived punctually, making loud coughing noises to ensure I was perceived. She told me: Sit. Pushy woman proceeded to question my job application—specifically, previous job title of "surreptitious assassin/mail courier." For whom did I work?, she wished to know. And why did I not provide references? "I work alone," I replied. This did not satisfy her. Then, ninjalike, very cleverly and quickly, I clarified, "Freelance." "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes at me.

Pushy woman from human resources will never know how closely death's shadow hovered over her. I am baffled still that she would question the job history of one who lists "neck snapping" as foremost skill.


Installment one, two, three, and four.