Sweet mother of Pac-Man I want to be a Ninja

   Needless to say that after watching an 11 year old warrior-savage, the primordial urges that I’ve been having ever since my eyes first beheld the awesomeness that was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, have surfaced yet again. Now granted when I flex, a chasm is formed in the universe from the sudden surge of greatness… and I suddenly gather so much more dust that I gain weight, but until watching this I don’t know that I’ve ever seriously considered the options that I would suddenly have if a pre-pubescent kid tried to kick yesterday’s lunch out of me. My solution? Hope that I can out-run him… maybe play dead? Perhaps I too should take up the art of screaming while spinning a broom handle around. Last time I tried that, I shattered the lightbulb on the ceiling of my parent’s basement, but I’m older now, and clearly that means that I’m prepared to be a lean, mean broom-handle-swinging machine. Plus, it’s gotta be more healthy than… you know… not spinning a stick and screaming. Ok, it’s true… I’m just afraid that if I didn’t have the broom handle, people might confuse me for the lead singer of a successful death metal band (yeah…. we’ll pretend it’s not an oxy-moron).