When I was a ninja, I kicked a lot of ass.

I would sneak up on people, deliver a kick to their bottoms, and then before they can turn around, disappear in a puff of smoke. In deciding I could probably accomplish more in that two-second window, I soon expanded my pranks from kicking to full-on groping. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I also became more selective of my victims, often returning to the same ones if I found the experience pleasurable.

Sensei Toyota did not approve.

I half-expected it, too. Toyota may have once been an open-minded man who enjoyed the occasional ass-kicking prank, but ever since coming to the United States, his perspectives mirrored that of the West. Violence is funny, but sex is punishable. Looking back, I probably should’ve realized how much he has changed when he named his American-born daughter, Lexus.

Needless to say, my license was revoked, and with that, my ability to practice ninjitsu in the state of California. I cried my eyes out, but Toyota was apathetic, only stroking his beard, and mumbling something about wanting his MPG.

If there is one thing I learned from this, it is that if you want to grope ass as a ninja, you’re much better off doing it with your foot, and in quick, short bursts.

I’ve always wanted to write a blog that people actually read, but it’s tough.

There are only two kinds of people who have written successful, busy personal blogs: those who accent their posts with photos of their gigantic breasts, and those who accent their posts with photos of their friends’ gigantic breasts. Unfortunately, both my own chest mass and my access to the chest mass of others are quite limited, and my camera doesn’t have the best resolution. It would not be long before I returned to blogging about which sauce I like on my pasta. The problem, as I see it, is that even if you were—ahem—Brangelina, real daily life just isn’t that interesting.

Then I remembered: this is the internet. This is where, with one swift wikipedic stroke, I can convince hundreds of high schoolers that William Shakespeare attended comic conventions dressed up as Naruto. If blogging about what happened in my life is too boring, then I shall blog about all the things that didn’t.

So welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to these fabricated accounts of my life. I hope they bring you unprecedented joy. And remember, no matter how lively the characters, how authentic the setting, there is only one thing about these stories that is true: the fact that they’re not.

Did I tell you about my breasts? They’re, like, gigantic.