I shall now share with you a legend that has been meticulously passed down through eons of memory. Keepers of this knowledge had to endure excrutiating pain and personal embaracement to dicipline their minds enough just to store it. A secret so closely gaurded that when faced with the notion of divulging it's inner workings, men would deficate on themselves and then burst into flames. This knowledge has been the cornerstone of Angolian mysticism for centuries. You might be asking yourselves right about now, "But if what you claim is true, then how are you able to resist being so consumed by your inner monologue that you release the contents of your bowels and building pressure in your brain until climactically it causes your head to explode?" The answer is simple. I have no soul.
Like most stories we begin our tale in feudal Japan. It was a time of shameless promiscuity, severely rampant hallucinogens, and wandering vagrants who traveled under the guise of soulful flute players searching for enlightenment and a rare grain known only as Kung Fu Crunch. Most of the great flute players studied under the tutilage of a great Ninja master called Mr. Roboto. Unknown to his students Mr. Roboto was actually from the future. The year 40001 a.s.s to be precise. He had intended to travel to Bethel, New York, 1969 but there was a little misunderstanding between the flux capacitor and his brass knuckles. He had learned of the mythical Woodstock through his burned out hippy parents and wished to "drop a little acid". Coincidentally his time machine mechanic had been doing that very thing when he programed the machine. As result the time machine (which was designed in the likeness of a 21st century Mini Cooper) thought that his name was Reginald Cornelius III and that his driver's name was Michael.
On the other side of the known world existed a little place called... Jersey. In this ruthless land of pop rocks and coke, there lived a brutal overlord called Jarlon Grimstone. Now Jarlon was a fearsome warrior with a glare that could make a statue crap its pants. One day Mr. Roboto and his legion of the worlds deadliest ninjas caught wind that this Lord Grimstone was hording entire silos of the rare Kung Fu Crunch. They decided to steal the valuable grain under the cover of darkness. When the ninjas arrived, however, Lord Grimstone was waiting for them. He had been informed of the ninjas plan to steal his most coveted possesion by his assasin spies, Tyrone and La'Quisha. The ninjas acted quickly and used their master welding skills to build a gigantic steel cage around their Master and Lord Grimstone. For 40 days and 40 nights the foes battled the ultimate battle. Good against evil. And in the end only one rival remained. Jarlon Grimstone... was dead. He had been striken down by a stray bullet that a Mexican had fired into the air. For, ironically, it was "El Dia de Muerte"... the day of the dead.
Mr. Roboto and the ninjas felt that the only fair thing to do was to give all of the Ku Fu Crunch to the Mexicans who had succeded where they had failed. And to this day that is why ninjas and Mexicans don't get along.