Redneck Bar & Grill

So, I sat down at my computer the other day; about to write the greatest post of my entire career as a blogger (at least in my head it was).  All of a sudden I heard a faint rustling behind me.  I turned around and what should my astonished eyes behold:

That’s right a genuine, certified Ninja.  Well, I mean I assume she was certified.  I never asked for any sort of credentials and she certainly didn’t present them.  Anyway, I found it rather odd that a lowly blogger would hear a Ninja sneaking up behind him.  I was about to comment on this fact when she opened up her hand, showed me a palm-full of some sort of powder and then blew said powder into my face.

The next thing I recall was waking up.  I slowly gained my senses and as I looked around I discovered I was no longer in my own home.  Then I noticed I was tied up.  I thought to myself that if a female Ninja abducts a male blogger and ties him up there can be only one thing she could possibly want; my mind.  Sure enough, she soon came into the room with a laptop.

She set it down in front of me and said (in a very thick Calgarian accent), “You will now write my life story.”  (It was almost like something out of a Stephen King novel.)

“But I don’t know anything about your life”, I whined protested.

“I am Ninja, you are writer; now write my story!”  As she said this she pulled out one of those long Ninja swords (you know the ones I’m taking about) and started waving it around wildly.

“Hey!  That’s a good way for someone to get hurt, you know.”  Then I resigned myself to my fate.  After all I am a pretty good writer; just because I can’t remember what those Ninja swords are called (and even though I use brackets to excess) that doesn’t mean I can’t write an awesome story about a Ninja.  So I started writing and the words just flowed out of me.  Before long I had written the greatest Ninja story ever told.  She read it and she smiled (at least I think she smiled, her mask changed shape a little; and since she didn’t cut my head off she must not have been frowning).  Then she nodded her head, opened up her hand and blew some more powder in my face.

This time I woke up back in my own home, safe and sound.  My first thought was to re-write the story and then have it published and then license the movie rights and become a millionaire (all one thought).  But as I sat down at my computer I found out that she must have used some sort of Ninja mind control technique on me because I could not remember the story at all.  (Although, I had a faint feeling like I had used this very same plot device before.)

And that’s how I spent my weekend.

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