Ninjas.

Ninjas!


by james bezerra



If only I could fence,

then I would have a suitable defense

against all these ninjas! But since

I have no such deterrence,

I usually just run.

 
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Ninjas?

Now I love Google just like everybody else on Earth, but just a minute ago I google image searched “ninja in the bedroom” (see below post “Songs for My Band’s Next Album”) and here are some of the random images that came up …












I’m sure that even a cursory investigation of these images and their websites would provide some logical explanations and clues, but I choose to do no such investigation. Sometimes understanding the underlying logic of apparently whimsical randomness just kills the fun, you know?
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Songs for My Band's Next Album!

If you have visited this blog before then you no doubt know that I am in an entirely fictitious band. Here are some of the songs that will be on our next album! Should we ever actually decide to make a next album (which would be our first). Though in order to even cut an album we will probably have to start practicing … or even all meeting in one place at one time (I think I have let thirty or forty people into the band by now, so the logistics of rehearseing can be a real bitch) … also, we probably can’t actually start practicing until I actually write some of these songs … which I will totally do, just as soon as I learn to play an instrument …

Until all of that happens though, please enjoy these song titles!

The Otter Conclusion

www.rufiegun.com

Ninja in the Bedroom

Forbidden Clam Cave

Lisa is Trying to Get Me to Hook-Up with an Ugly Icelandic Virgin

Happiness is a Learned Condition (from Tom Robbins)

The Finnish Finishing School

Hemispheric Homogenization

I Dream of a World Where Virtuous Platypuses Ride Justice Ostriches into Battle Against Evil

Big Imaginary Bullets

Boat Made of Holes

Tragematopolists with Candy

The Thomas Guide of Her Soul

A Skin’s Length of Scabs

You’re Instrumental When You’re Wordless

How to Make Your Own Furniture Out of Other Furniture

His Jabberwocky of Excuses

Pornographic Cardiogram



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