This morning I awoke to a shadowy figure slipping soundlessly into a ventilation duct. 

But I was not afraid.

I was not afraid because I knew it was just one of the silent ninja tendrils of the Wu Tang Clan.  Gathering information, manipulating the course of world events, sharpening their liquid swords.  From three to nine to hundreds the Wu-Army has spread exponentially, infiltrating the farthest corners of media and art and culture.  Limiting themselves neither by by genre nor medium it is only natural that they will one day rule over all that they see.  And I for one welcome our new Wu-Overlords.

I have begun writing in The RZA on my ballots, speaking only the ever evolving language that is the Ghostface Killa's, paying homage to the great counterculture martyr that is the Old Dirty Bastard.  As part of the 85% that doesn't have a clue, I go to sleep each night knowing that somewhere out there the Wu Tang Clan is fighting for my salvation.  And, most importantly, winning.

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