The Faithful Day

It was a Saturday morning unlike any other—a day that would forever be etched into my soul like a cursed relic of childhood mischief. It was a saga of resentment, betrayal, and the unbreakable bond of cousinhood. A tale so legendary that even the Ninja Turtles themselves would bow in admiration.

The origin story begins, as all great ones do, with boredom. Three unsuspecting kids—me, my brother, and our cousin Leng—found ourselves aimlessly wandering around the house, searching for adventure, unaware that destiny had already laid the groundwork for the greatest heist of all time: The Grasshopper Hunt.

Mission: Operation Grasshopper 🦗🎒

Plastic bags in hand, we set off toward the abandoned lot across the street, enclosed by an imposing brick wall—a formidable 5.5-foot barrier that dared to challenge our Ninja Turtle-level athleticism. With absolutely no concerns about potential snake-infested terrain, we climbed with the grace of seasoned warriors.

Each of us had a designated turtle persona:
🐢 Me – Leonardo (the leader, naturally)
🐢 My Brother – Raphael (brute force, because that’s his vibe)
🐢 Cousin Leng – Donatello (purely because he graduated college, nothing to do with bo staffs)

We cat-walked across the top of the wall like daredevils testing their balance, then plunged into the overgrown jungle below—ready to snatch up our unsuspecting prey.

The grasshoppers never stood a chance. Within minutes, our plastic bags were squirming with dozens of tiny, green prisoners. The candy store effect kicked in, and we laughed, compared haul sizes, and basked in the glory of youthful recklessness.

But then… the real ninja entered the scene.

Enter: The Super Ninja 🥷⚡

Unbeknownst to us, there was a force far greater than any of our rooftop antics—an entity capable of blending into her surroundings, striking with ruthless precision.

My aunt. Leng’s mother.

She appeared out of nowhere, like an elite assassin trained in the art of maternal fury. Before we could flee, she had already snatched us in the grip of justice. The Grasshopper Mafia had been exposed.

Judgment Day 🦗🥞

Dragged back to the house, our morning haul still squirming in the bags, my aunt stood before us—a judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.
She didn’t yell. Oh no, that would’ve been merciful.

She did something far, far worse.

She told us to eat them. 😨

There was no negotiation. No bargaining for freedom. She simply handed us glasses of water and instructed us to swallow our grasshopper sins whole.

I peeked into my bag, my stomach sinking into oblivion—I had foolishly caught the biggest ones.
These weren’t standard issue grasshoppers.
These were boss-level, Godzilla-sized insects.

So, I did what any logical survivor would do—I escaped one through the tear in the window screen, sending it back into the wild where it belonged.

As for the rest…?
The H2O method was initiated.

Not a single cousin dared chew. We gulped, we grimaced, and we prayed for mercy.

That morning, hatred festered in my heart for my aunt. Years passed before the bitterness faded, replaced only by nostalgic laughter and the legendary title bestowed upon us:

THE GRASSHOPPER MAFIA. 🔥🦗💀

Time heals all wounds… but some childhood traumas? They become legendary stories.

🚀🐢 End Transmission. 🚀

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