Addendum

We're also way past due for Fist of the North Star to happen. Art just doesn't matter.

Happy Post-Apocalyptic Fourth of July!

We partied too hard and destroyed civilization! Well, these things happen. So, anybody the successor of a secret martial arts school? No? We probably should have checked that before we bought the fireworks.

Speaking of Successors

Have you ever seen a story where somebody's mad about being passed over for succession by the master and thought that dude had a point? But then again, it's often unclear why people want to succeed in the first place. The master never seems to be having a fun time. Get off that mountain and become a bodyguard or something.

Backup Plan

Option 2 is post-apocalyptic King Arthur. They should still use swords though. And still have all the bright colors and fancy sets. Just have some shirtless dudes with mohawks to fight.

Trends of the New Century

Out: Stage magicians
In: Huge muscles

Take Back Your Posture

In the shattered ruins of a city of the Pacific Northwest, the hard but peaceful lives of the industrious survivors ended when Big Bunker's thugs strolled into town from the east, laughing and flexing their huge muscles. Even worse, a band of Harbor Rose's goons walked in at the same time. The survivors abandoned the square and peeked out of their cracked wooden doors. They knew their future was about to be determined, and they had no say.
"What do you thugs think you're doing here? Huh?" One of the goons made the first challenge.
"This is Big Bunker's turf. Didn't you know? I guess you don't know much!" The head thug laughed and elbowed his crew.
Just then, from the south, a lone figure appeared, tall and broad, covered in a cloak which he threw off to reveal his bull-like arms. The goons and thugs shouted and threatened, but the survivors were too shocked to speak. They recognized who the man was.
Before the cloak hit the ground, he thrashed every one of the thugs and goons, then began to speak. "How do you think the apocalypse happened in the first place? Carelessness. That's right, carelessness. Now look at you, with your torn shirts and mohawks. Were you manning the missiles? I wouldn't doubt it. Either you or somebody as careless as you. Sit up straight and look at me when I talk to you. You think paying attention isn't important? People like you thought that in the old days too, and then boom, apocalypse. Do you think that's fun? That it's the right way to do things?"
As the speech continued, the villagers finally found their voices and muttered to one another, "It's him! The one who wanders the wastes and tells us why we deserved it! The Nagger of the New Century!"
Finis