But Michelangelo was tired of the Ninja Turtle

But Michelangelo was tired of the Ninja Turtle schtick. Everywhere he went people said, "Let's kick some shell!" He hated that. He was a method actor. He'd cut his teeth on

a bandsaw, and since then, there was nothing he feared. No turtle or frog infested urban landscape was going to make him think twice about giving this new bananabread recipe to

stall on Brighton beach selling noodle burgers & sweet & sour cola. Then they imported Japanese Homo Sausage, & the Sino/Jappo/American fusion cuisine overtook all Southern England

but was quickly indistinguishable from the standard bangers & mash. Even multicultural international fusion held no chance against the momentum of centuries of sausage and potato.

Even when you tried to sneak a new spice or two into their bland "comfort food" recipes you got grief. "It's OK, but I like the regular way better" they would say. Well screw that

! I didn't care if heartburn killed 'em. They needed sriracha & they needed it now. I put it in everything: on their toast for breakfast, in their prune juice, sprinkled on top of

their ice cream. Heck, I even put it in their bathwater. Still, it wasn't enough - they kept demanding more and more of the delicious red sauce. The lady at the store knew me by

the red bandana I wore on my head. Shop Lady knew us all by that infamous accessory. The Siracha Suppliers. We gave siracha sauce to those in need, but it was becoming an addiction

that was putting me into crippling debt. The sauce would my downfall, in the later years, where I ended up having a fatal overdose.