Happy Thanksgiving (2017)

Dear US of A people, no matter where you are around this ever shrinking world, We here at the Three-Ninjas wish you a very happy Thanksgiving!

Enjoy your annual stuff your face day, but this year as you spend time with your family, and think back to the stories of the “1st Thanksgiving” you were told as a child, think about the friendship between yourselves and the Indigenous people and take a moment to show support for those same people trying to defend their land at Standing Rock.

Lets all have a traditional American Thanksgiving.

<PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT>

It turns out that if you try to order a batch of smallpox off the internet, to try to genetically modify the strain to wipe out a large racial group you get a visit by a bunch of men in black suits and mirrored shades, and a pat-down that makes the TSA look like a nervous schoolboy with his first above the clothes fumble.

Also, most races are slightly more streetwise these days, and you can not claim their country as your own with the cunning use of flags & the Winchester repeating rifle. Also the men in black will confiscate said Rifle when they leave

</PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT>

Least We Forget (2017)

Each year, on 11 November, the country falls silent to commemorate our war dead. This ritual, and the ceremonies and symbols that accompany it, have become part of national life.

Remembrance started long before the guns of the Western Front fell silent with people marking the loss or absence of loved ones away at war. 100+ years later, the personal and political resonances of remembrance still stir strong emotions.

WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.

remembranceadIn Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

John McCrae (1872 – 1918)