I am a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fan. I am sick of hiding it just because of the anti ninja America backlash. With all the cheap plot-free poor-acting movies that have been spawned by the ninja craze, America has forgotten its true ninja roots. They have forgotten the classically named, rodent-trained, slimy heroes of our yesteryears. Well my yesteryears, for you it was probably like high school or college or something. Man you are old. But that isn’t as important as remembering what really made a 3-year section of American cartoons great: the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Don’t act like you don’t miss Splinter, the sensei rat who took the nuclear waste covered turtles under his wing and somehow, by means still unknown to the US government, taught them to talk and fight and order pizza. It reflects on a simpler time when just the mention of chemical waste would give you the license to do pretty much whatever you wanted to. A splash of chemical here, a dash of toxic waste there, and just a pinch of plutonium and the most wondrous things would happen. That is what made the TMNT great. You totally thought if you could just get your hands on some nuclear waste you could turn your dog into some sort of gigantic, crime-fighting hippie.