Okay I totally apologize if I’ve pissed you off. (Not.) But it seems like people don’t like blogs if there isn’t a person behind them, a person who says, “I’m so and so and this is the kind of cola I like.” I guess. I mean there is a person behind all these entries. Me. It’s just that I’ve presented every single story under a different character.
  I can explain.
  My name is Tim Saunders and I’m 14 years old and I live in Toronto Canada. I know this is going to be hard to believe but I have a ouija board that tells me to to write all these stories. Creepy hey ? I got the uijia board for Christmas and it was just funny at first but then I realized that it was instructing me to start a blog and then it gave me these characters with their stories to write. At first I was just like.. what the fuuuuuk ? This is totally like a Steven King movie or something. This morning I poured salt on the ouija board and burned it just like you’re supposed to do. And now I don’t have to write these stupid daily stories anymore.
  Well I kind of have one last story though. Actually it’s a series that starts today…



          The Bad-Ass MoFo with the Ouija Board Tattooed to his Stomach



  There was a kid named Stan and he had crappy parents, stupid brothers and sisters and teachers that were completely retarded.  He lived in a lousy house that didn’t have a plasma screen t.v. and his parents always yelled at him to keep the heat down because they wanted to save ten cents on the heating. 
  One day he was mowing the front lawn which totally sucked because he only got ten dollars for doing it but it took hours and hours to do. This black van pulled up and these guys dressed like real ninja’s jumped out. They ran over to Stan who tried to run but it was too late. They stuffed him in a black sack and threw him back into the van. From the black sack he could hear the van peel out. Of course he was scared (wouldn’t you be ?) but then he heard them playing Metallica and he thought maybe he’d be okay. 
  They drove for a long time until they stopped. The ninjas took him into their cave fortress where they were training an army of ninjas. They usually kidnapped babies or paid girls who were going to get abortions to keep their babies. Sometimes they dressed up like Pro-Lifers and picketed abortion clinics so they could get a hold of girls before they had their babies. From the age of like zero they trained these babies to be bad-ass ninjas who didn’t know anything about their mothers wanting to abort them. They didn’t even know there was such a thing as mothers or sunlight or crappy music.
  The head of the Ninja Army explained all this to me as we passed babies that were kicking the shit out of punching bags while Wu Tang clan blasted out of giant concert sized speakers. He told me that the head of Ninja intelligence recently passed away and they needed a replacement. He put his arm on my shoulder and said that they’d been spying on me for years and I was going to be the man’s replacement because I had the right mix or attitude and strength. He asked me if I wanted to take over the job. He pulled out a knife and held it at me.
   “Do I have any choice ?”
   “No.”
    “Then I graciously accept the position.”
    So after they trained me for a couple years to become a one man killing machine that could take on a hundred Rambos, I had to get a ouija board tattooed to my belly.
   “If you’re in a tight situation, you can consult some demons from the other side,” I was told and then I had to swallow the planchette so that I could regurgitate it at a moment’s notice. I’d been trained to unlock my jaw like a snake so it was no problem swallowing it. It was hard-core but that was my job.
   After all this I spent three years training to be a totally boss heavy metal guitarist who sang and played drums with pedals at his feet. This was my cover as I toured the world and then secretly found information for the Ninja Army.
  My new name was Cobra Powers. 
  And it’s go time right now.

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