Mr. T Pities Fools

[Byron Virgo]

Mr. T, enigmatic public figure, still on the run from the US government for deserting the army during the Vietnam conflict, celebrates his birthday today. He also provided an exclusive interview, extracts of which are published here.

Mr, or T as he prefers to be called, began life at an early age. Born to parents Mrs. T and Mr. T (Snr) in his home town of Paeoria, Illnois in 1932, he emerged into a diverse and changing world, as he himself elaborates.
"The night I was born, the moon turned a fire-red" T exclaims from his hidden fortress somewhere in suburban Florida. "Told that Jimi Hendrix the story, next thing I know he's singin' it on his record. He's lucky he dead, 'cause if I caught him he'd wish he was. I wouldn't be surprised if he died just to escape my justice. Still, I pity the fool."

His mother was a house wife, and as such contributed nothing useful to society, although she did sew men?s shirts on the side for a little pin money. T's father was notoriously thrifty, and refused even to buy new clothes or food, so that Mrs. T had to wear, as her bridal dress, a woollen coat and grocery store paper bag combination. The family could often be found crawling on one of many communal garbage piles throughout the city, where they would eat anything they could bite through with their teeth, or that didn't contain lead.
"They were hard days. Good, but hard. Mostly hard" enthuses T. "I think that?s why momma tried to poison poppa so many times. That and all the women he was seein' on the side. Still, she came out of it with the toughest teeth in alla' Illinois. She could bite clean through anything, tables, war ships, even a human leg once".

It was at this point that T's first major setback in his young life occurred. At the age of 8, he had to deal with the incarceration of his mother after she bit the leg of a passing stranger. T's father had run away from home that morning, claiming that he was 'goin' out and might be some time wuman', ending up running a bordello and cobblers ('have your shoes mended while you ejacu-wait') in Liverpool. Mrs. T became somewhat upset, and finally more than a little deranged. She leapt on the first man she saw, in this case Gus Obermann the postman, and with cries of "You ain't leavin' me again, you dirty hound!" she bit clean through his left shin bone.
 Mr. Oberman was later to comment "I been chased by dogs all my life in this job, and none of 'em had as powerful a jaw on 'em as that one did".

Mrs. T was swiftly removed to a secure mental institution, where she continued to reside for nearly fifty-eight years. T mentions that it is still a cause of local legend that, the police having failed to prise the severed limb from Mrs. T?s vice like grip, she sat through the entire court case clutching the offending leg. In fact, the leg eventually caused the case to run for a three years, because of the high turnover of jurors and court officials, due to the smell of rotting human flesh. T was of course devastated by his mother?s removal to the mental hospital:
?Of course it was difficult with momma locked away and poppa gone; I had to fend for myself. I was only eight, but I still hunted down all the jurors and cops involved and served them justice. Mr.T justice. I pitied their foolishness.?

At the age of nine, T decided that he needed to make something of himself and left home to join the merchant navy. Unfortunately he went aboard the wrong ship, ending up on a boat owned by Algerian white slave traders. T takes up the story:
?Yeah, so I find myself on the wrong boat, thousands of miles from home, with no hope of getting home and about to be murdered by a buncha? violent Ay-rabs. So what do I do? Do I lie down and cry like a mewling baby dog? Mr. T don?t cry like no dog! I pity the fool who thinks Mr. T would cry like a stinkin? dog. So I bust their asses like a cheap Swiss chair, and I laid down the law to them. The law of Mr.T. I told ?em: ?Y?all workin? for me now, so you best behave or else I?ll crush you like a fat man in a phone box, understand?! After that there weren?t no problems.?
Soon, T had become the lord of all slavery in the northern tip of Africa. But did he never have any regrets about all the innocent people he sent for a life of inescapable servitude? ?Of course I felt something. They may have been fools, but I pitied them.?

However, T?s criminal slavery empire would last just a short twenty-five years. He received shocking news about his mother in the summer of 1967, which caused him to return to America. His mother, having escaped her secure mental institution, had run amok across downtown New York, scaling buildings, spitting, clubbing people to death with a stuffed severed leg and generally making a nuisance of herself. She was eventually shot down by a fleet of biplanes, The Flying Piccolo Brothers, that happened to be in nearby New Jersey for an aerial show. M. T was flying the lead plane:
"Yeah, there?s not many man enough to shoot down their own momma when she's scaling the Trump Buildin', but I said if anyone?s gonna do it, it'd better be me! She was makin' a damn embarrassment of herself, actin' foolish. I took pity on her and put her outta her misery the only way I know how - the only way there is. The Mr. T way. Now she in heaven with Jesus, Dr. King, Michael Jackson and all the other angels." As a result of this unfortunate episode, T found that he developed what would turn out to be a life long fear of flying.      

T's life took another sharp turn when he was called in for a meeting with then-President of the United States Ricardo Nixon.
"Nixon told me that my momma died 'causa a Soviet plot, with help from Red China, performed by gooks from 'Nam. Actually, Nixon didn't tell me, he just sat in his big chair talkin' bout the Miami Dolphins, or some shit. Droolin' like a baby. But Kissinger took me to one side. I heard he liked it like that. Anyway, afterwards he told me: 'T - your momma...it was Charlie!' That was all I needed to hear. I told him: ?Enough of you jibber jabber fool! Where Charlie at?? I was on the first boat to the Meekong Delta. I pity the fools who kills Mr. T's momma!"

Interestingly enough, T actually entered Vietnam before American ground troops had been committed, and was thus the first ever 'one man invasion' in the entire history of warfare. In fact the reason for the commencement of warfare in the country was given by White House spokesman Art Demonciano at the time was due to "Mr. T related activities in the area."
T spent eight long years fighting in the jungly terrain of Da Nang, frequently deprived of sleep, food and with minimal access to the shared barbershop trio given to the soldiers by their generals to dissuade them from taking drugs.
"It was hot, filthy, with bugs crawlin' all up inside your ass. Charlie liked it hot, gave him his edge. I remember one day - hotter than the flames of hell. There was a heat mist comin' off the paddy fields as we entered the jungle in sector 448-2-9er. Then I saw, risin' outta the mist, a whole platoon of 'em. Charlie was up to somethin'. We ran on into the jungle. Then we heard another patrol in front of us. We nearly ran smack into 'em, and Charlie was gonna' cathch us in a classic pincer movement. Yeah, a Charlie wanted him some tasty Viet Kong lobster! Well I'd sure give it to him hot and sweet. I ran at 'em, firing as I went. I didn't know it then, but I was shootin' blanks. So I pulled out my mighty bladed weapon and I gave it 'em in the ass! I gave it to 'em long and hard. When the red mist faded from my eyes, I was surrounded by two-hundred and fifty dead gooks. By the time I'd finished the asses were tired and bloody. Bloody assed pitiable fools is what they were."

But apart from bloodying asses on the battlefield, Mr. T had a fairly average war - good, but not spectacular. However, information would later emerge that the North Vietnamese had nothing to do with the death of T's mother. He was actually positioned to try and entrap several of his fellow GI?s, who were suspected of stealing weapons and other arms from the US military and then selling the self same arms back to the military for an inflated price. Still wanted by Military Police, they shall be referred to from hereon in by code names ? Hannibal, Face and Murdock ? as no-one could be as foolish as to believe them to be their real names. However, T made fools of his CIA handlers by absconding with the suspects and one hundred and eighteen cases of their commanding officers monticristos. T explains his reasons:
?When your In Country with your buddies, you form a bond that can never be broken. Not even by death, you know what I?m sayin?? A man you fight, kill, sleep, eat and shit beside aint just no man to you no more. He you?re blood brother, understand? He?s your brother in death and killin?, ?cause no-one but you and he will ever understand each other. When that red mist comes over your eyes and you just gotta kill you?self somethin? ? aint no other man on earth gonna understand it ?cept a man who done his fair share a killin? alongside you. ?Course you might have to slap him about some now an? then. Like when he?s jabbering an? cryin? for his momma when he?s stuck halfway down a fox hole Charlie?s dug in the ground an? he can feel ?em scuttling away underneath him. In that kinda situation you just gotta slap him outta it, pull his ass outta that hole an? burn them gook tunnel bugs straight back to hell. Mr. T says napalm works every time.?

Despite being on the run, the four wanted ex-servicemen decided to go into business together. They decided to open a catering company that produced powerful performance art pieces on the subject of the futility of life, the inevitability of death, and the lack of quality toilet paper in most public restrooms, all through the medium of mime and heated pastry products, and all performed whilst people ate. It was, of course, an abject failure. T reflects that he ?shoulda? known when Murdock said he liked the idea?. However, it was in some way fortuitous, in that their next business venture was decided upon during a particularly unsuccessful touring production of ?HMS Pinafore?. They decided to become mercenaries for hire?  

Link: http://www.sit.wisc.edu/~kljense3/MrTvs.html" target="_blank">Mr. T vs. Everything

http://130.18.140.19/mmsoc/mr-t.jpg">

[Thread Zero]

Do you think you could have found a bigger picture if you tried, Byron?

Of course, Mr. T's real name is Lawrence Tureaud (pronounced 'Turd'), you know.

[House of Usher]

I pity the fool who has time to read this whole thread without being given a gentle introduction to its context first?

[Dark Jimbo]

Bizarre. What's all this about then?


Edit: Gah! Sorry, been browsing the archives, didn't realise I was necroposting.

[Hoagy]

At the risk of getting pelted by Snickers bars, I'd like to say cold water, can kill. It didn't do any victims of the Titanic any good.

[Christov]

Christ, that's some massive copy pasta.

[Roger Godpleton]

I beat Byron Virgo at table football once.