I found this weird, weightlifting Ninja Turtle at a Family Dollar store for five bucks. Family Dollar is a store where you can also save twenty-five cents on a bottle of generic bleach, buy a 4X t-shirt that has I’M PROUD OF ME printed on the back, and pick up a bag of original-flavored Bugles for only a $1.50. This is why I shop here ALL OF THE TIME.
Actually, I was just looking for a sled that night before the SNOWPOCALYPSE two weeks ago. While there were no sleds, I could not help but check out the aisles of bargain-priced dish detergent in floral scents, and browse the racks of Bugle Boy jean shorts. Am I wrong, or was there like a month in 1993 where Bugle Boy was cool to wear? And, didn’t the aforementioned snack chip, Bugles, also hit the shelves around the same time? It was like the word Bugle had a resurrection.
So this is a small, four-inch figure of Donatello that I fell in love with, while standing in the toy aisle that also sold Pogs. I was pumped up, Turtle-style. Oh, the possibilities. Actually, just one possibility–but a very, very intriguing one.
Here’s exactly what I had envisioned. Donatello, the weight bench, the barbells. The stapler, the pencil sharpener. In fact, I wonder if I could sharpen the bo staff in the pencil sharpener. But alas, it’s not my pencil sharpener to abuse. Instead, it belongs to the girlfriend, who still uses pencils, apparently. She’s so sixth grade. If I used pencils, I’d sharpen them with knives.
Here’s a glance of the back of the card:
Here are my observations. You gotta love the cheesy language like Baxter-busting triceps, and wicked workout bench. It takes me back to a simpler time, that month in 1993. Which, in fact, was not simple at all.
Especially when I simply could not endure another bloodbath day of George Fox Middle School, wearing the one-hundred dollar Baltimore Orioles starter jacket that my parents finally bought for me with their tax refund check. It had taken months of begging, and at least one breakdown in Sports Authority while my mother shopped for a pedometer. Eventually, I had my puffy, glorified wind breaker, with a sports team logo I barely cared for emblazoned across the chest. I was cool. Representing the home town. What up.
Most importantly, I could stop wearing the bleached-out demin jacket that I was getting made fun of for wearing.
Except, I got made fun of still. I don’t blame my six inch glasses, or the fact that my haircut vaguely resembled a bastard crossing of Little Lord Fauntleroy and Dorothy Hamil. No, it’s clear to me still–I should have chosen the Dallas Cowboys starter jacket.
I like the stats profile of Donny, noting that he can press 380 lbs, which remarkably, is the same that I can press. (Give or take.) See, I’m totally comfortable revealing my past as a painfully awkward nerd, because now I am totally ripped. I killed a man too.
Also, contact lenses and Clearasil do a lot for confidence. You know what? I’M PROUD OF ME. I ought to get a t-shirt that says that.
Donny’s height is listed at 5’2″, but everyone knows he’s at least six feet. I consider the huge-ass puppets from the films to be the true-life representations of the Turtles.
Also, I have no idea what a Turtle Tunneler is.
The figure only has one point of articulation–the arms that move up and down. They don’t move up and down individually either. The figure also doesn’t stand on his own. Here he is leaning against the sharpener for support. What crap. But I’m not going to sit here bitching about a toy for ten year olds. That’s what nerds do, a group of which I no longer belong to. (See: Clearasil, killing people.)
Also, I like fonts.