"So Mr. T, since the A-Team went off the air you've worn many hats, fake cop, suburban rapper...I'd like to know the lessons you've learned being the token brother in so many white run enterprises."
"Whatchoo talkin' about Willus, I ain't never been on no A-Team. And what's this suburban rapper booshat? I gots me some street cred. I's a gangsta mofo and don't you forget it."
"Uh...OK. Well then, Mr. T., please pity the fool and tell us how you'd achieve racial equality in these troubled times?"
"Right, well that's easy. All the brothers need to marry a platinum blonde brain dead bimbo with big artificial breastisees. Ya see the big breastisees goes a long way towards making that racial harmony flow. Personally I like it best when the racial harmony flows down between those big breastisees. Ha! If ya gets my street cred humor white boy."
"One more thing Mr. T., you are the master of that elusive thespian facial expression known as constipation puss. As a matter of fact, it seems to be your only facial expression. How did you achieve this so successfully?"
"Ummm...it's cause I be constipated all the time. Y'know toilet paper is white right? No black man worth his manufactured street cred could ever trust his backside to anything white, right?"
"Of course Mr. T., and thank you for your time."
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