Ninja Vicki appears in my kitchen with a clipboard. That’s what ninjas do. One moment there’s no ninja, the next BAM! Ninja. I’m used to it.
“I need you to sponsor me for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure out by the park next week,” says Ninja Vicki.
“I didn’t know you were a runner,” I say. “At least not a distance runner. I could see you as a really good sprinter though.”
“I’m not running in it, I’m murdering people in it,” says Ninja Vicki.
“So you’re going to be picking off people who are running to raise money for breast cancer research?” I say. “This seems more wrong than usual for you.”
“Please, the Susan G. Komen foundation does less for curing breast cancer than you do,” says Ninja Vicki. And she’s right. I haven’t touched a boob in quite a while. “On top of that bullshit of them not sending money anymore to Planned Parenthood all they’re really good at is marketing pink shit for people to buy. The money they raise goes mainly to overhead, lobbying and pharmaceutical treatments… not into actual prevention or research into why breast cancer actually happens or why people get it.”
“And for this you’re going to be killing the participants of the Run for a Cure race?” I say.
“It’s not Run for a Cure ’cause they ain’t curing shit,” says Ninja Vicki. “You know what’s better than a cure, not getting breast cancer in the first place. But they’re not interested in that because treatment is more profitable than prevention. And with all that money they’re not spending to prevent cancer, they’re marketing breast cancer like it’s a fucking soda. That’s bullshit.”
“I think I’m getting the gist of your protest,” I say. “And it’s more thought-out and cogent than your usual ventures. But I don’t see why you have to go kill the runners of the race, who are likely breast cancer survivors or family members of breast cancer patients.”
“Because I’m a ninja, and killing people is in my primary skill set,” says Ninja Vicki. “Am I supposed to march in the street? Write my congressmen? Hold a bake sale? That’s a waste of my ninja talents.”
“When you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail,” I say. “So I guess when you’re a ninja, every problem looks like someone to stab with your sword.”
“Or throw a shuriken into, or hit with a poison dart, or shoot an arrow at,” says Ninja Vicki. “Ninjas have many options to silently take people out with.”
“And why do I have to sponsor you for this?” I say.
“Because for each participant I kill, you will donate a certain amount of pledged money per kill,” says Ninja Vicki. “That money will then go to some charity that will actually do something to help prevent breast cancer rather than make a whole bunch of pink shit then sell it to people.”
“And each person you kill means less money to the Susan G. Komen people too,” I say. “Feed your beast, starve the other beast. That’s a decent plan.”
So I sign up for a dollar a victim. Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat signed up for two dollars a victim because he supports anything that kills humans. Tina the Lesbian abstained from pledging, as she apparently has problems with indiscriminate murder during charity events.