I'm giving Rise of the TMNT another shot, even though it's so disappointing, and the new Splinter is...ew.
NOTE: There will probably be grammar mistakes which I will fix later.
"Oy vey", Donnie sighed as he and his brothers dragged themselves into the living room. All of them were equally pooped after another exciting day of fighting bad guys and saving the city.
As usual, their Pop was asleep in his comfy, stained chair, snoring and drooling. His robe was covered with cake crumbs and a couple of empty milk cartons lay on the floor.
"Hey, Pop," Raph mumbled tiredly as they passed by him, and of course, the old rat didn't hear him and continued to snore. "Goin' ta bed. Night, guys."
"Night," the others mumbled, and they each went to their separate rooms.
A couple of hours later, Splinter awoke with a startle. "I did not break the teapot, kaasan! Huh?" He blinked his eyes twice before rubbing them. He then looked up at the clock and realized that it was after midnight. After stretching himself and letting out a big yawn, he hopped out of the chair to start his usual nighttime duties.
As always, he would sneak into each of his sons' bedrooms and very carefully slip all of their gears, belts, clothes, and masks off their bodies while they were still asleep. His poor Turtles were usually too exhausted to even take them off, themselves, before going to bed.
He would then dump the masks and clothes into the washing machine and use his special fabric softener that he took with him from Japan so that they would be as soft and comfortable as the silk of a traditional kimono. He'd also add scent boosters to give them the sweet smell of a lotus flower as a bonus.
After their clothes, he'd then move on to the Turtles, themselves, and tonight he was going to start with Raphael. His biggest and eldest boy snored like a grizzly bear, unaware that his father was crawling onto his shell and removing all the dirt with a scraper. Splinter then sharpened the spikes with a file, and when he pressed his finger against the tip of one and felt it prick him, he smiled to himself in approval.
He then moved on to Leonardo, and for the red-eared slider, he turned on the large UVB lamp that had been built into his headboard by Donatello. He then took a bottle of shell moisturizer and squirted some onto his hands before rubbing them all over Leonardo's carapace. This treatment kept his shell shiny, strong, and flexible, and it also prevented cracking and fungal infection. The Turtle would occasionally giggle at the tickling sensation, but he slept through it all.
For Donatello, he used a special, ancient treatment: acupuncture. On average, the genius of the group spent six to seven hours a day in his lab or on the computer, and this often caused him to suffer from headaches and even insomnia. Acupuncture helped to relief the stress and allowed him to relax and have a good night's sleep. He didn't even feel the needles as Splinter inserted them into the right pressure points.
After he was finished with Donatello, he set up a blank canvas against the microwave in the kitchen and sat back down in his chair, looking up at the clock. "OK, cue artist in three, two..."
A zombie-like moan echoed in the hall right at that moment and a dark figure slowly walked into the kitchen. Splinter chuckled to himself as he got off his chair to follow the "intruder".
There was some incoherent mumbling, but he could make out the words, "paints", "canvas", "technique". He poked his head in and as usual, Michelangelo was rummaging through the fridge for his "art supplies".
The youngest Turtle sleepwalked at least four times a month, almost always dreaming about running a TV show about painting techniques, like the late Bob Ross, who was Michelangelo's favorite artist of all time. He continued to mumble as he picked out the ketchup and mayonnaise, his eyes blank and halfway closed. "Purple for grapes...green for vineyards...don't forget white for the..." He then reached into one of the drawers of the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a wooden spoon. Last time it was the beater.
"Thank you...joining me," Mikey bowed his head to the "audience" in his dream. "Today we will be...vineyards. As usual...start with simple strokes..." He wobbled over to the canvas and squirted a large amount of the ketchup onto it, and using the wooden spoon, he smeared the condiment all over the white sheet.
"Next...green to make..." He then applied the mayonnaise and "brushed" it randomly all over the canvas. "Look at pretty colors...capture moment..."
Splinter watched his son work in both amusement and pride when the dryer in the laundry room suddenly beeped, causing Michelangelo to jump and drop the spoon, but he wasn't awake. "Huh...?" He blinked slowly a few times in confusion before he lifted the corners of his lips into a tired grin. "Folks, callin' it a night...bye."
And with that, he dropped to the floor, though Splinter caught him in time and carried him all the way to his bedroom, despite the Turtle being twice his size and weight. He tucked Michelangelo in and even slipped his favorite stuffed animal, Floppy Puppy, under his arm to cuddle with.
After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, he picked up the canvas and took it to a secret storage room that only he knew about. He flipped the switch on in the darkness, and the flickering lights revealed hundreds of canvases, each with a unique blotch and smudge made with condiments and other foods. To a professional artist, they would be worthless garbage, but in Splinter's eyes, they were masterpieces. He set the newest "painting" down and wrote the title for it with a black ink pen on the bottom left: "Vineyard by Michelangelo".
He took Raphael's mask out of the dryer and took a big whiff, a satisfied smile on his wrinkly, furry face as the smell of lotus flowers filled his nostrils. They now felt and smelled nice. "Just like kaasan's kimono."
...
All four brothers woke up the next morning, feeling fresh and ready to take on the new day. And as always, they found their clean clothes neatly folded with their gears and belts on top of them, and in gratitude, they each gave Splinter, who was by then asleep in his chair, a peck on the cheek.
Before they left to the surface to meet with April, Mikey noticed a small white spot on the kitchen counter and rubbed it off with his finger before putting it on his tongue. His eyes widened at the familiar taste. "Mayo?"
Unbeknownst to the Turtles, one of Splinter's yellow eyes popped open in surprise.
Oops, he missed a spot.