Do you remember the T? Of course you do fool! I'd pity the fool who doesn't know everything about Mr. T, from his underpants size (helluva big) to his hat size (helluva big). Well guess what? Come on guess, you lazy, uncreative suckas! He's making a come back.

After spending years crashing on various people's couches, he has decided to stop watching soap operas and eating ice cream from strangers' refrigerators in order to return to his previous life of cracking heads together like watermelons in his new religion; Mr. T, Worship me foo or I'll bust your heads together like a bunch of watermelons. More simply put, the Mr. T sensation.

Our religion is simple, we must recreate everyday Mr. T experiences in the our home towns. Chicago may suck as a result of 1000's of poor drivers (namely Allie) but other cities need help to. To create this difference we have molded our religion into the greatest army ever, the army of the streets. We all train 6 days a week to battle the foos crazier than a murdoc, attempting to give us headaches with there constant jibbajabber. We don't train on Tuesday because we must give offerings for the great gold chains in the sky by catapult, the catapult is to throw the offering helluva far like Mr. T. Sadly our catapult wasn't designed very well, so most of our offerings were sort of fling into the ground at about 40 miles per hour. We hoped they'd dug helluva far, but they tend to just helluva crack the pavement.

The army of the streets is organized and given orders from their respective centers of operations, the local youth center. It is the source of our power. So we must do everything we can to make sure the youth centers have worn out pool tables, foosball with missing players (the result of overpaid and pampered athletes) and out of date video game systems, we are currently up to the commodore 64. We’re looking forward to the year 2014, when we can finally equip our facilities with Nintendo.

Upon joining the Mr. T sensation you will be given a written test, cause Mr. T told you to stay in school and we don't want no suckas. Afterwards, if you pass the test you will be given physical, to see if you are capable of becoming a member of the army of the streets! Otherwise we just launch your fat ass in to the sky. We don't need no fatties getting in our way.

Once you’ve been accepted you’ll be given a robe based on your rank. Black means your helluva tough, like a Japanese Zen Monk. White, well we put white on the virgin offerings to the sky. Purple for the non-virgins, because they're dirty! DIRTY! Really big cows don't need robes, they can wear bows.