Los Cripallas Del Nowalkios

I frequently encounter evil hoards of combat throughout my voyage to
vengeance.  None more evil than the notorious Los Crippallas Del Nowalkios.  Yes,
faithful followers, an intimidating name indeed.  The name of a Mexican
gang from Mexico whom I encountered in Mexico a few years ago in Mexico as
I negotiated the purchase a herd of Mexican goats…………in Mexico.

Two months ago, Midget Ninja received a note from a former training
partner of mine whom I had violently slain so often in the dojothat he chose to permanently cease all training and
become what he termed as “a normal 92 year old retiree”.  He informed me he
had received coded intel stating that the thuggish bastards who senselessly
slaughtered my majestic mother and ran a purple vein train on her as she
laid gasping for her last breath, could be south of the border conducting
some forms of questionable business with the Los Cripallas Del Nowalkios.
Not one to be intimidated, I traversed the challenging landscape of the
city bus stop and endured the grueling 312 hour, 98 mile trip deep into the
heart of Mexican gang country, cleverly disguised as a Mexican Midget
Ninja seeking to conduct questionable business by purchasing a herd of
Mexican goats.  I had laid the bait and now waited for the creatures of the
unsavory night to approach their impending doom.

Immediately, an obovious gang member by the name of Julio Escuela Rodriguez
Ortiz Muchacho Del Fuego, whom I called Diane for short, approached me in
what I later learned to be a wheelchair.  Apparently, a wheelchair is a
mechanism for treacherous villains and thugs who believe they are superior
to those of us who walk.   Speaking to me in some untranslatable form of
gang speak or “Spanish” as he called it, I decyphered through my sharp
ninja senses that he was either offering to provide seven cousins to pour
my driveway or he was interested in conducting questionable business with
me for seven Mexican goats.  Believing the bait was taken, I followed him.
Could this finally be resolution for my cold dead mothers rotted corpse
which lay in my living room watching her favorite TV show?

Midget hand on bow staff, I cautiously entered the dark lair.  Ninja senses
immediately detected all ramps, no stairs.  Nice try Los Cripallas Del
Nowalkios, nice try, but your efforts to confuse me failed.  Sensing their
tomfoolery was ineffective, the leader rolled up to me and began
“negotiating” with his lazy eye and broken english the purchase as Diane
herded seven Mexican goats from his diabolical chair of superiority into
the middle of our location.  “Who killed my mother?” I asked directly as
these pristeen goats were milked as evidence of their high value.  “Who
killed my mother?” I asked again but louder, as one of the male goats began
to penetrate one of the female goats in the act of making goat love, a
blatant attempt by the Nowalkios to distract me as the other goats and gang
members surely prepared to attack before I had the chance to act first.  “I
am asking for the last time, Diane, which one of you killed my mother and then plowed her majestic
vagina and turd basket as she died?!”.  I am still uncertain to this day
what “Quieres Comprar estas cabras bien?” translates to in untranslatable
gang speak but Midget Ninja receives threats from no one.

Strict Ninja Code 7D section 18 dictates when surrounded by attack goats
and receiving threats in untranslatable gang speak, Ninja Honor must be
defended.  Weilding the mighty hand carved hickory oak, I executed fifteen
gang members, deactivated their evil transportation machines, and
slaughtered seven Mexican goats, two of which were still fucking.
Nunchuks, Nunchuks, Nunchuks, Nunchuks, quicker than something really
really fast, I crippled the legs of the corpses with surprisingly little to
no effort to display to those who would find them that Midget Ninja plays
not.

Covered in blood, dust, wheelchair parts, and goat semen, I sadly realized
that now, despite upholding the ninja code which I have lived my life to
defend, I may never get my driveway poured or find out who is directly
responsible for killing my sweet, untainted saint of a mother.  Yet, I
could move forward, satisfied that these sadistic Los Cripallas Del
Nowalkios could no longer intimidate the innocent thanks to Midget Ninja.  Also, Mexican
goat meat is fantastic.

Even in Victory, There is Loss

As I churn forward like a category billion hurricane, consumed by my
vengeance and hate, I continue to learn, continue to grow.  Knowledge is
Midget Ninjas ninth, or possibly eighth most critical weapon and I have
used it with success to conquer many an adversary.  Recently I learned
however, that for Midget Ninja, even in victory, there is loss.

I was in a Wal- Mart out west intending to purchase several softcore
pornographic VHS cassette tapes form the bargain bin because as you know
those prices are really really low, when I headed to the bathroom by the
layaway department at the back of the store. There, I happened across an
elderly man, frail and gentle, with massive old man balls.

Despite his sitting in the handicapped stall, I knew he had massive old man
balls because I keenly observed his massive old man balls which had settled
all the way onto the floor like two giant saint bernards napping beneath a
goat pelt when I kicked his stall door open due to what I falsely deduced
to be the noises of a fist fight, which Midget Ninja is required to step in
and halt by strict ninja code 13B section 40 of the ninja manual.

Falsely deduced to say the least, as the fight was not between two fists as
I had originally suspected but between myself and the vile poison obviously
implanted intraveneously within the innocent old man by the enemies who
wish to see an end to Midget Ninja.  This deadly toxin violently erupted
from his tired, wrinkled stool cannon while wave after wave of the attack
splattered, many times temporarily paralyzing me from the nostrils down.

As the battle intensified, I laid in weakened state wandering in and out
of consciousness, curious if this world had finally stolen my chance at
justice.  It was at that moment that I remembered the last thing my
beautiful goddess of a meth addicted mother said to me before she was
brutally murdered and gang raped in the back of an old Volkswagon van, so
softly and sweetly she said “Dont be holding out on a bitch, baby, come on
now, I will suck your dick for a hit.  I can’t quit baby, you know I can’t quit,
I need a hit!”  Thats right mom, I can’t quit.

Revitalized from the inspiration, I rose and drew my hand whittled bow staff.  Rage taking over,
I began thrashing through the putrid haze.  Crouching Tiger style.  Claw
punch kick power combo, yet to no avail as the angry concoction continued it’s flow,
breeching the protective boundaries of the porcelain altar that could no
longer contain the fury.  Throwing stars!  Body Blow.  Body Blow.  It was
at that moment, in the midst of relentless combat, that my keen sacred ninja senses detected a Wal-Mart sales ad on top
of the toilet tank, new three-ply Charmin in 36 roll pack on sale, man
those prices are really low.  Not to be distracted, throwing stars,
throwing stars!  Hidden Dragon style!  Thraot Balls Balls power combo!

Finally, the bowels of the beast were emptied.  His slain carcass fell
limply across his wheelchair, which had some really cool custom rims, then
down to the floor into the steaming puddle of turds.  He breathed his last
breath as his now lifeless head lay near those massive old man balls on the
floor of the handicapped stall in Wal-Mart.  A fitting final resting place.

Out of respect for my unnamed fallen opponent, even as the stench whaffed
through my nasal cavities, I did my closed hands in prayer bow thingy that
all ninjas do to their fallen opponents and decided to name him Sum Dam
Dung, which in ninja translates to Greatly Respected Foe Whom Lies Dead in
Steaming Puddle of Turds.

After cleaning the fecal destruction to remove any evidence that might
alert enemies of my presence, I refused to disgrace the ninja lineage by
washing my hands in the lair of evildoers.  So I proudly returned to my
quest for softcore pornographic VHS cassette tapes only to discover, none
were to be found.  They had apparently sold out just prior to my arrival.
Therefore, due to defending ninja honor and the honor of my family in that bathroom
stall equipped specifically for the handicapped, I had missed the
opportunity to purchase several softcore pornographic VHS cassette tapes at
such amazingly low prices.    Even in victory, there is loss.