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I was sitting in my boxers, drinking beer and eating a block of cheddar the size of an engine block, flipping chanels after Iron Chef, when, lo, my eyes beheld Mr. T, in full gold chains, yelling at people about automobile insurance. Later, I catch him telling a bunch of check writing nincompoops even he has financial troubles, and not to be ashamed to go to a company called 'Check into Cash'.

How far has Mr. T fallen? Sure for a while everbody thought he was dead, and there was that shameful ball-eating period. In vain, I tried denial, hoping it was just some Mr. T look-alike, but no. Is this where all of my childhood heroes are headed? Flushed down the sewers of public access television? I suggest if we can set up a website to save Lars Ulrich from poverty, it's the least we can do for Mr. T. Wipe the tarnish off those chains! Return him to his former glory, that he may once again proudly pity the fools.

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