Ninja Girl

She was garbed head to toe in black. Her pony tail hung to her waist. Her mask revealed
only almond eyes and red lips. The four young men agreed she was the sexiest thing they
had seen all night.

The first walked over to where she sat on a stool. “Hi there baby,” he said. “I like girls
who wear black.”

“Wonderful,” she said. “And I like being called baby. Here’s my room key. Meet me
later.”

He took the key, danced a jig and headed out the door.

“Well, that certainly looks easy,” said the second. He hurried over to the girl.

“Hi there baby,” he said. “I like girls who wear black.”

She flicked her sword in and out of it’s scabbard in one fluid, blinding motion. Cleanly
sliced in half, the top and bottom pieces of him fell to the floor. His guts oozed out over
the tile.

“Mother of nature!” cried the third.

“Yuck,” said the fourth.

“These things happen,” said an old monk nearby.

“But why?” asked the third.

The old monk stroked his beard. “The first young man took the risk of saying what was
on his mind. But the second took the easy path of saying what he thought was guaranteed
to succeed. He was afraid to risk. Ninja girls only mate with the most courageous of men.
They eliminate the rest from the gene pool.”

“I get it,” said the third. “But how do I demonstrate courage?”

“You must find your unique voice and express it with conviction. Do that and you will be
the most courageous man in the world.”

“Okay then,” the third said. “I can do that.” He meditated a moment and then walked
over to the girl.

“Hi there,” he said to her. “I have to be honest, you scare me but I’m intrigued by your
ninja ways. I would like to get to know you better.” He said this with an easy, steady
voice that comes from speaking a simple truth.
Quicker than the human eye could follow, she threw three pointy, black stars into his
chest. With a wet scream he fell backwards, vaulted over a railing and plummeted to the
street several stories below.

“Hey old monk!” demanded the fourth, “I thought you said he should express his unique
voice with conviction.”

The old monk shrugged his shoulders. “Women,” was all he said.