I pity the fool who doesn’t love Mr. T cereal. Sure, it had its faults. There were no marshmallow bits or brightly colored chunks of grain that tinted the milk by meals end. The taste bordered on bland and the shape, the simplistic crispy corn T’s, were unimaginative at best. But it was endorsed by B.A. Baracus himself and that’s all this young boy needed.
I am, in many respects, a bit on the shallow side. I am easily swayed by the proper spokesperson, especially if said advertising icon is one of the most influential faces of my youth. Mr. T infiltrated every nook and cranny of the 1980’s: TV (the A-Team, his guest appearances on Silver Spoons and Different Strokes, the short lived Saturday morning cartoon in which he traveled about the Untied States with a bunch of underage gymnasts), wrestling (including but not limited to his boxing match with Piper at Wrestlemania 2), motivational speaking (who could forget Be Somebody…or Be Somebody’s Fool), and rap music (the man collaborated with another T, as in Ice-T).
Had he told me to fill a bowl with my own feces and eat it, I probably would have (extreme example, I know, but my obsessions tend to run in the extreme). T had a hold on me like that. I still, to this day, long to wear a mess of gold chains and my hair in a mowhawk. Not proper for someone about to turn 37 but the desire still exists.
First name: Mister; middle name: period; last name T