The Brady Mob

Here's the story, of a man named ... Tony?

Throughout television history there've been many examples of model fathers.  Some, like Andy Taylor and Ward Cleaver, were models of kindness and understanding while others, such as Homer Simpson and Al Bundy, would better serve as an example of parenting "strategies" you should avoid.  Generally speaking, though, every TV dad was more or less a perfect match for his particular family.  Sure, Al Bundy was an idiot, but so were his wife and kids.  Ward Cleaver was a great father, and his family reflected that.

So whaddaya say we have a little fun here, and perform a parent transplant?  What if we took one of our favorite TV families and replaced their father with the dad from a different show?  I mean, how would the Brady kids have turned out if their father was, say, Tony Soprano?

Remember the episode of the Brady Bunch where a bully named Buddy Hinton picked on Cindy for talking with a lisp?  "Baby talk, baby talk, it's a wonder you can walk," he'd say, sending poor Cindy home in tears.  One afternoon, on their way home from Clinton Avenue Elementary School, Peter decided to stand up for his little sister, telling Buddy to knock it off.  Buddy then said to Peter, "why don't you make me?" and ended up kicking Peter's ass.  Peter and Cindy went home with their tails between their legs, and told their father what had happened.  Being an unrealistically optimistic pacifist, Mike Brady tried to reason with Buddy's father, with no success.

But how would Tony Brady (formerly Soprano) have handled the situation?

THEME MUSIC:

Here's the story of a lovely lady
Who was bringing up three very lovely girls
All of them had hair of gold
Like their mother
The youngest one in curls.

Here's the story, of a man named Tony
Who was busy with three punks of his own
They were four thugs 
Living all together
Yet they were all alone.

Till the one day when the lady met this goombah
And she knew he was the right guy for the job
So her girls were brought in to "the family"
That's the way that they became the Brady Mob.

The Brady Mob, the Brady Mob.  That's the way they became the Brady Mob.

We pick up the scene in the Brady family room, with Peter and Cindy talking to their father. 

TONY: Whoa, what the fuck happened to your face, Pete?

PETER: I got in a fight with Buddy Hinton.

TONY: A fight over what?

PETER: He was making fun of Cindy.

TONY: Is that right.

Never pick on a girl with mob connections, Buddy.

CINDY: Yeth, Daddy.  He wath making fun of my lithp.  He thaid I thound like a baby.

TONY: That's why I told your mother to take you to the fuckin' speech therapist.  Haven't ya been going?

CINDY: Mommy thaid not to tell you we've been going to the mall inthtead of the thpeech clatheth.  That would be tattling.

TONY: I'll deal wit' your mother later.  So Peter, dis Hinton character, I might wanna have a word wit' his fuckin' father.  You happen to know where he lives?

PETER: The Hintons live over on Sherwood Avenue, it's the blue house with the cobblestone driveway.  I can show you if you want.

CINDY: Can I go too, Daddy?  I want to thee you talk to Mithter Hinton.

TONY: No, Cindy, you better stay here wit' Alice.  Let's go, Pete, we gotta stop by and pick up Silvio and Christopher and then we'll have a little chat wit' dat douchebag's old man.

Tony and Peter make a quick stop at Brady Bing, the strip club Tony owns and manages.  Peter repeats the whole story to Tony's consiglieri Silvio Dante and lower-level associate Christopher Moltisanti.  They drive over to the Hintons' place and Tony rings the doorbell. 

MR. HINTON (opening the door): Who the hell are you greaseballs?

Mom always says, "Don't break balls in the house."

Silvio busts Mr. Hinton in the temple with the butt-end of his .44-caliber pistol, and then unleashes a knee to the stugots (that's mob talk for "nuts").  Hinton crumples to the ground, where Christopher and Sil proceed to kick him repeatedly in the ribs. 

TONY: Get the fuck up, ya fuckin' fanook.  Chris, Sil, help him out.

Christopher and Sil lift the semi-conscious Hinton to his feet and hold him upright. 

TONY: Where's your kid?

HINTON: Humph?

TONY: Your son Buddy.  Get him out here.  He should see this.

HINTON (groaning): Buddy!  Come down here for a minute!

Buddy hustles down the stairs. 

BUDDY: What is it Da - aaaaah!  What's going on?

TONY: Hi Buddy.  So I hear youse been makin' fun of my little girl Cindy.  Is that right?

BUDDY: NO!  I NEVER SAID ANYTHING TO HER!

Tony pulls out his own pistol and fires a bullet into Mr. Hinton's thigh.  Christopher punctuates this with an elbow to Hinton's mouth. 

TONY (to Mr. Hinton, who is moaning in pain): You might wanna explain to your kid dat he should probably tell da truth in dis situation.

HINTON (pulling out what's left of his broken front teeth): Buthy . . . jutht tell Mither Brady duh trooth . . .

"I think I see a leg bone popping out!"

PETER: Gee, Mr. Hinton, you sure talk funny!

Christopher and Sil chuckle softly, and drop Mr. Hinton who curls up in a fetal position on the living room floor. 

BUDDY: Okay, okay, I've been teasing Cindy, but I was only playing around.  I didn't mean to hurt her feelings.  I'll never do it again, I promise.

TONY: Whaddaya tink, Peter?  Does Buddy sound like he's sorry?  Or do you tink he might need a little more, how should we say dis, um, encouragement?

PETER: He's been doing it for a while, Dad, and remember he did punch me in the face.

TONY: Right, I almost forgot about dat.  Christopher, go get da baseball bat from da trunk.

CHRISTOPHER: You got it, T.

Christopher exits, then returns a moment later wielding a 33-ounce Louisville Slugger, Derek Jeter model. 

CHRISTOPHER: T, you're not gonna ask me to beat up a kid, are ya? 

TONY: No, of course not.  Give da bat to Peter.

Peter takes the bat and without a word, rams it knob-first into Buddy's mouth.  Then, in one swift motion, he swings low, dislocating the younger Hinton's right knee.  Buddy falls to the ground next to his father, crying. 

BUDDY: I'm thorry!  I'm thorry!  I'm thorry!

PETER (to Buddy): Baby talk, baby talk, it'll be a while till you can walk.  C'mon Dad, let's get the fuck outta here.

TONY: Dat's my boy.

Tony, Peter, Silvio, and Christopher leave the house, leaving Buddy and his dad lying on the floor bleeding.

We're not even going to discuss what would happen to Mike Brady if he had to take over the Soprano family.  Somehow, I don't think his "family" would respond well to settling their disputes with calm, cool reasoning.


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