The Mutard Army gelled in 1963. The first Mutard, Major Cheese, lived as an imbecile drunk at the bottom of a stairwell in Taipei. There he wrestled with his own frying flesh, eternally facing his own mellow melted demons. No one ever called the police. Early one day he began mumbling up pickles on the wrapper-scattered streets of Lin Shen Bai Lu and people began to listen. He salted his back and weeped cheese as the people's dark maws grew hungry and began to devour them the Major their throat tongues.
As the legendary taste of our Dear Leader grew multitudes came crawling, leaping and lollygagging up from the depths and down from the penthouses of society to join the Mutard struggle. The army has never clearly identified its enemies and thus the most violent aggression has always occurred within its own ranks. Even mankind's immortal nemesis, the Jins, claim to have several fervent members.
Practice
Mutards lather their backs with flavor every day. They sever their own heads upon pink pillows and they are feasted upon. We are the Mutard Army and we are delicious.
