Unemployed for more than a decade and living in a Richmond soup kitchen’s kitchen, the Teeny Little Super Guy said yesterday in an exclusive interview that he is in need of a new set of cabinets – and a catalyst to turn his life around.

While the Teeny Little Super Guy had for years found comfort in the wooden cabinets of a South Richmond home, the animated middle-aged plastic cup man, like many other children’s stars of the time, said he saw misfortune after his TV short on Sesame Street was cancelled in 1997.   After the elderly couple moved from the two-story brick home in 2003, the Teeny Little Super Guy, now 62, found himself cabinetless.

“I got work at a local antique shop downtown, selling chests of drawers,” the straw-hatted man says, his plastic yellowed in time as he sips a freshly-brewed cup of coffee from himself.  “Took a bad fall into a claw-foot bathtub that put me on unemployment.  Held a few odd jobs here and there, but there’s really not a lot of work for a washed up children’s show actor.  I might be a little small, but I got a lot of heart left in me.”

Added the graying man in his trademark scratchy voice: “You can’t tell a hero by his size, you know.”

Last month, the Teeny Little Super Guy says he was forced to take shelter in the cabinets of the Richmond Community Soup Kitchen, a not-for-profit organization that provides beds and food for the homeless, as well as utensil-related tiny people.

For nearly 15 years, the Teeny Little Super Guy was the king of early-morning edutainment shows, teaching millions of children about the joys of school, the hidden dangers of household objects and the benefits of sharing – all while tap-dancing around a kitchen, bathroom or dinner table.  He still possesses a unique ability to vanish through solids such as porcelain sinks or wooden shelving. 

And as he explains, the years have been rough not only on his finances, but his personal relationships, as well.

“Eugene, my blue paper-cup friend, was killed in a dish-washing accident,” he recalls quite vividly.  “My [glass mug] wife Eunice fell out of a third-floor shelf and [broke].  And I lost my [salt-shaker] buddy R.W. Shipshape after he went empty at a real young age.”

Yet the Teeny Little Super Guy knows he still has a small fanbase out there.

“I remember, he’d pop right up before your eye,” recalls Kelly MacDonald, a Chesterfield County resident who is now 32, but was a frequent “TLSG” viewer in its heyday. 

“It’s really unfortunate to hear about his distressing situation these days,” she added, but noted that the Teeny Little Super Guy’s fate has been much better than that cartoon typewriter guy, who after 26 episodes quickly ran out of alphabet to teach and was technologically replaced after just a few years on the job.

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