I'm Falling Even More In Love With You

Virgin Ninja (1)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (1)"
   
   Joanna Blanc was a forty-something blonde with short cropped curls of flaxen; moreover, a set of gray eyes, very hooded, a celestial nose, full kiss-me lips, and an athletic body that didn't brag buxom-ways, but merely cupcake cleavage--and she didn't give a damn.
   Miss Blanc worked at SUBWAY, doing the morning shift, lived in a shanty deep in the Arkansas brag of bucolic beauty, and drove an enduro Kawasaki, lime-green, so that she could always lose the cops by cutting through someone's yard or hitting a wooded trail.  She was a virgin.  Too, she was a Ninja.
   She starting out rolling with Rosary Beads in one pocket and a switchblade in the other; however, that wasn't enough to bring the jam of justice she desired to smear on the dastardly deeds of delinquents delivering diatribe against chaos yet practicing it themselves--basically, she was a slayer of hypocrites.  Like rich men with teen porn.
   It started in Little Rock during the 1970's, when her preacher step-father used to greet her at night in her bedroom, unzip his pants and expose an aroused member that he demanded she kiss.  After numerous macabre encounters, she bit it off, spit it out like a sour pickle, and got thrown in juvenile detention, her mother disowning her, and the rest was poverty, therapy, and tears, until she met a Carmelite Nun, getting faith and support; next, learned the ways of the Shinobi, better known as the Ninja--a covert warrior in feudal Japan, him standing up to the imperialistic Samurai, those guys armed with false honor--in her angst-fueled mind, though balanced with the totality of focus itself.
   So, she made sandwiches during the week, dismembered douchebags on Friday night, skulking with stealth; next, went to Mass on Sundays.
   She even carried the Rosary in her tabi boots, and nunchucks, many a shuriken; plus, a wooden wakizashi to crack craniums.  Hey, every girl has to get her groove on.  And she was no lesbian, but as white as snow.  

Robin Hood Cream Ale

   
   "Robin Hood Cream Ale"
   
   "Ye men of adventure, I am calling your name."  Those were the words tattooed on my first can of Pittsburgh steel beer, drank in the Dirty South of Arkansas.  And only enlisted Navy men and dockworkers should have tattoos, kids--in my dumb ass opinion.
   It was Holland, Gibbs, and myself.  I was fifteen.  Collected beer cans back in the 70's.  Found plenty of full ones in the Pittsburgh jungle.  Years later, Holland said we should refrigerate it and drink it.  We did.  
   Holland and myself split the pint.  Gibbs just drank the froth; thus, his name from that moment on was always:  Froth Man.  
   

Opening Cantina Scene [1080p]

MATTHEW 10:34-36

   
   "MATTHEW 10:34-36"
   
   Keep reading this passage--it gets more hardcore, theologically and truthfully.  

34)  Think not that I am come to send peace on earth:  I came not to send peace, but a sword.

35)  For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.

36)  A man's foes shall be of his own household.  

Coyoting Jokes

   
   "Coyoting Jokes"
   
   Like the wily, humorous coyote, always chasing God, second unto the Great Spirit, and having stole fire from the gods to craft life--I will showcase OPP.  Here we go:

DENNIS MILLER
I want Air Marshals, for if a guy sits next to me on a plane and looks like Jeff Goldblum on a three day meth bender, something is wrong.  
What's the difference between Tom Brady and Chuck Schumer?  Tom Brady is a patriot and a winner.

CONAN O'BRIEN
If your favorite movie is the APPLE DUMPLING GANG; next, you know you have problems.

DAVID LETTERMAN
If the Navy Seals weren't able to get bin Laden, the President was gonna send in the Jersey Boys.

ARCHIE BUNKER
Jesus isn't really Jewish.  Well, on His Mother's side.  

Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)

   
   "Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)"
   
   Dusan was an older man.  Arctic blue eyes, a balding, symmetrical cranium with silver hair on the sides of his head, a build like Tebow from lifting steel in Pittsburgh, and a habit of protecting his neurology with charcoal-filtered cigarettes.  It was 1950, Steel City, and he was a gorgeous man.
   Dusan had a fourth grade education; however, was fluent in all the Slavic languages; moreover, knew education was enslavement.  Party--a four year vacation, joining Hellenistic frats, and the art of deception, meaning you become deceived.  Money, a distraction.  Phony education, a distraction. 
   Keep you in a state of anxiety, unless you follow the system and the prince of this world.  Seeking the flesh, ignoring the spirit, and having attachments that make you weak, like women.  Hell, look what a woman did to James Joyce, but in the end, it made him stronger and a great confessor; thus, God tests the just man, just as Dusan tested his steel.
   It's who you know.  It's how much money or corporeal favors you give them.  It's bologna.  For you must remember where you came from.  That light.  Counterpoise--a father and a mother.  That's true balance.  Yet the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and the Father and Mother infuse their child with both sides of their knowledge; next, stellar evolution ceases, for the star is perfection personified.  
   Dusan kept lifting steel.