Michaelangelo: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle
Mirage Studios Volume 1, Issue 1
Story & Art by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird
Read it at NinjaTurtles.com

Christmasness is Next to Parentlessness

All my life, I’ve wanted to name a cat “Klunk,” but I’ve never had the balls to see it through.

Allow me to explain: in this festive E&L’sTMNT special, Michaelangelo uses ninja to help some orphans, or something. What is it about Christmas that brings up all the orphan talk, anyways? I mean, I get the whole Santa-Claus-is-your-parents and orphans-don’t-have-parents ergo orphans-don’t-have-Santa-Claus logical postulate. But the Easter Bunny is your parents, the Tooth Fairy is your parents. Why don’t the orphans get all up in arms about their lack of chocolate eggs and tooth compensation? My advice: you kids are gonna need to be more consistent if you want to get adopted.

But I’ve wandered off-track. Michaelangelo bundles up and heads out into snowy New York, presumably to remind himself of all the holiday joys he’ll never be welcomed to join in. Rudolph’s nose was freaky, yes, but it’s just a nose, and can be easily looked past. Ain’t no giant turtle being allowed to join in any human games. Though if there were mutant reindeer, they might be okay hanging with Mikey. Hey, I think I just wrote my own TMNT Christmas special.

So Mike’s watching the humans skate and sled, doing a bit of it himself, getting in the spirit. He goes into a toy store and hears all about the latest toy supercraze: L’il Orphan Alien. Every kid wants one, no store has any, and if you get your hands on one, it can be re-sold for big bucks. I’m talking fifty dollars. Remember, this was 1985.

Actually, yes: remember that. 1985, and folks were already busting out the satire usually reserved for your Tickle Me Elmos, Power Rangers, Playstation 2s, and Nintendo Wiis. These holiday clusterfucks over a fear of Christmas-morning disappointment are nothing new.

So, apparently the manufacturer or the toy store had decided to donate a truckload of these highly-coveted toys to an orphanage. This would never happen. First, these kids are orphans — they don’t have TV, so they don’t know what the fuck L’il Orphan Alien is, and even if they did, they’re sure as hell not expecting to get one. They don’t expect to get anything; they’re not gonna be upset with an orange in an old sock, but little Richie Rich up in his mansion, who’s grown accustomed to getting what he wants, he’s sure gonna be disappointed that daddy, with all his millions, couldn’t even get one L’il Orphan Fucking Alien. Why is an orphan’s happiness so much more valuable than this kid’s? Especially since, and let’s be honest here, happiness ain’t gonna be a regular guest star in the orphan’s life. We don’t want him getting a taste for it.

But I skipped a part. Back when Mike’s out and about in this winter wonderland, giving E&L the opportunity to lay it on thick with the sentiment as well as that white-dabber pen they just picked up, he finds a little kitty, yowling out in the snow. I guess we’re supposed to assume this is a homeless cat — sorry, an “orphan” cat, this being the holiday season and all — but there’s no real evidence to support that. It’s just a cat, hanging out outdoors. It’s not distressed, it’s not looking particularly haggard or worse-for-wear. It could very possibly have a home, it could live two doors down, for all Michaelangelo knows. But he snatches it up, sticks in his coat, and takes it with him on his toy thief-busting ninjadventures, and then he takes it back home to April’s. So yeah, there was at least one family that sure wasn’t happy that Christmas morning, L’il Orphan Alien or no. They didn’t wake up to stocking and tinsel, they spent their morning hanging Lost Cat posters, only to see them smeared and soaked through by the excessively thick snow. “Is Mr. Fluffykins dead, Daddy?” one of them asks. “He may as well be,” replies Daddy.

Mike names the ‘napped kitty Klunk, which is awesome. It’s the smartest move Michaelangelo (primary personality trait: “Borderline Retarded”) ever pulled. I’d give a nut to have a cat named Klunk, but no matter how many times I tried, it just never took. How many cats have to die before I successfully name one of them Klunk? Huh, God?

Hey, maybe if I ever have a kid, I’ll name it Klunk. That’s a good, gender-neutral name: Klunk Beal.