I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I used to cover notebooks in school with illustrations of Shredder, and Splinter, and Casey Jones, and the four turtles, and Bebop and Rocksteady, and even Usagi Yojimbo (for those who watched the cartoons and read the comic books). I even owned the original role playing game based on the Turtles. I watched all three movies, which got progressively worse. For the love of Christ, I even signed up for karate lessons in the child-like hope that one day I would step into mutagen and become some sort of martial-artist/mutant zoo-creature. I even made my parents take me to the Philadelphia Art Museum so that I could learn about the works of Raphael, Michaelangelo, Leonardo, and Donatello. I learned about ninja weapons, and could tell you the practical differences between sais and wakasashis and no-daisho. I even developed a massive addiction to pizza. As far as I was concerned, I was a Ninja Turtle.
So I don’t know what the fuck this was supposed to be. But, like most Republicans with the Holocaust, I’m going to pretend this didn’t happen. I fell asleep, and blocked the memory of this from my head with a pizza gorgefest and a mix-tape featuring Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer.
