Tommy Morrison and his epic mullet starred in Rocky V in 1990 and won a heavyweight title from George Foreman in 1993, but the years since haven’t been nearly as kind (or mullety). He lost his title to Lennox Lewis in ’96, and soon after tested positive for HIV (according to two separate blood tests), which seems way worse. In 2007, he emerged with some dubious test results* saying he was HIV negative, and has gone on to box and win twice in some totally-above-board-and-not-at-all-shady promotions (*captain turns on sarcasm indicator light*).

UPDATE: R.I.P. Tommy Morrison, dead at 44

He’s now 42 and training for another fight, and blames his original positive test results on jealous rivals and corrupt promoters, claims which might sound a liiiittle more plausible if he didn’t quickly follow that up by saying that HIV is a myth and that he believes he’s telekinetic (that’s telekinesis, Kyle). Oh, and did I mention that according to a newspaper profile from last month, Morrison is having unprotected sex with his girlfriend and sporting lesions on his skin? Because he is. I imagine the last line of the reporter’s article was, “Meanwhile, I’m not getting laid because I’m poor, goodbye, cruel world.” Here’s a delightful excerpt:

Morrison’s rough Oklahoma twang will spell out all kinds of ideas, things that would blow your mind if they existed outside his reality. Telekinesis, for instance. He hasn’t quite figured it out, but he’d rather be invisible, anyway. Just think of all the stuff he could learn. One time he teleported himself out of a bar, and did you know the human body can re-grow limbs? His face is worn and his skin sags in places, but he insists he’s in the best shape of his life. He’s going to be heavyweight champion again if boxing lets him back in, and this brings up HIV. It always comes back to HIV with Tommy, even over breakfast, so he chops up his $12 steak and eggs and tells you he is the victim of a wild conspiracy. They stole his career, he says, at least a $38 million contract and who knows how much after that? They stole his good name, too. Made him admit to the world he has HIV. But that was before he found out that HIV doesn’t exist. It was invented to control people, he tells you, and he can go on and on about this all day. He takes another bite and looks at his girlfriend, a woman from England named Trisha. “We have unprotected sex,” she says. Tommy is still chewing, but laughs. “Every day,” he says. “We’re wild.”

Haha, cool story, bro! (*mouths “check please” at waitress*)

Tommy has spots all over his hands and arms. They’re distracting when you meet him. You can’t miss them. He blames his boxer puppy. Only the spots aren’t bite marks or scratches, and so now Tommy says they’re mosquito bites. Mosquitoes love him, he says.

Well sure, AIDS is like Tapatio to a mosquito.