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THEY WERE JUST TEENAGERS -- AND THEY SAVED YOUR SORRY PLANET (Revised) (A Blacksite Eulogy for the Original Mighty Morphin Power Rangers)
While you were crying over your $16 Panera sadness sandwich, while your parents were mid-divorce over "ethical bacon," five teenagers were curb-stomping space fascists in color-coded armor.
Not Navy SEALs. Not government black ops. Not your 43-year-old CrossFit uncle.
Teenagers. With SAT flashcards in one hand and alien war medals in the other.
They didnât ask for consent forms. Didnât request a trauma counselor. Didnât post vague âIâm not okayâ stories on Instagram.
They got sucked into a glowing space tube by a floating wizard head and immediately started dropkicking lunar necromancers.
AND YOU DONâT RESPECT THEM ENOUGH.
They werenât trained. They werenât insured. They werenât even legal adults.
Half of them probably still got picked last in gym class -- and still picked violence before calculus.
Meanwhile, youâre sitting in a beanie complaining about âlate-stage capitalismâ as if you ever faced down a kaiju with your ex's mixtape still in your Walkman.
đ THE ENEMY ROSTER:
Rita Repulsa: A menopause sorceress with vape smoke hair and the vocal range of a goat sacrifice. Dropped monsters like SoundCloud rappers drop EPs: frequently, and without meaning.
Goldar: Literal winged monkey dipped in melted Rolexes. Spoke like Optimus Prime after a gravel smoothie. Absolutely roid-raged. Still got folded like a lawn chair.
Putties (or âPuddies,â idk, clay lives donât matter): Zumba class rejects made of wet cement and poor life choices. Ran up just to get obliterated like background dancers in a Taekwondo musical.
How were they treated? Like Home Depot demo walls.
Spin kicks. Flying elbows. Double-knees to the sternum with zero OSHA compliance.
Sometimes they didnât even morph. Just squared up in jeans and teenage spite.
đ§ YOU THINK YOUR FINALS WERE HARD?
Try being 16 with:
đŚ Dino mechs to pilot đĽ Death lasers in your zip code đ A biology test on mitochondria due by 4th period
If you failed? You didnât get a B-minus. You got vaporized into stardust by a kaiju with neck piercings.
đĄď¸ NO HR. NO THERAPY. NO FMLA.
They didnât sue Zordon for endangerment. Didnât unionize against Alpha 5âs annoying ass. Didnât even ask for a mental health day.
They just backflipped into unpaid intergalactic warfare like it was a damn gym elective.
Explosions? Flipped over âem. Monsters? Chopped their necks. Existential trauma? Repressed it like 90s kids were born to do.
Because they knew the truth: The adults werenât gonna save sh*t.
YOU GETTING THIS YET, DUMMY?
No super-soldier serum. No Hogwarts scholarship. Just vibes, flips, and unresolved rage.
You owe your peaceful childhood to five hormone-riddled teens who got drafted into alien war crimes by a wall-mounted lava lamp and didnât even flinch.
They were the last generation to morph without whining.
âď¸ LEGAL DISCLAIMER:
This post is protected under Article 7 of the Galactic Satirical Combat Doctrine. Filed under: Nostalgic Delinquent Appreciation, Color-Coordinated War Crimes, and Child Soldier Recognition Day.
If youâre offended: Go journal about it in lowercase. The Rangers were pulling zords out of volcanoes while you were asking your mom if PG-13 movies had kissing in them.
đ BLACKSITE CHALLENGE: âWOULD YOU HAVE MORPHED?â
Ask yourself:
When Zordon called, when the sky cracked open, when Rita sent yet another worm demon to destroy your zip codeâŚ
Would you have pulled your coin and morphed up? Or would you have asked for conflict de-escalation training and a gluten-free snack break?
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Reblog if you damn well know the Rangers deserved hazard pay, group therapy, and 401(k) plans by 17
đŚ Reblog this if you ever shadowboxed a Putty in your kitchen wearing socks or
Send it to the friend who still yells âITâS MORPHINâ TIMEâ before therapy
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