Barry Levenson.

Mustard ree-tard.

It really doesn’t rhyme. I pronounce it Muss-turd. Not Muss-tard.

At any rate, Barry Levenson is a mustard nut.

This is Barry Levensen’s gift to the world: the Mustard Museum. It was located in Mount Horeb Wisconsin, and was going to move to a new historic building in Middleton, Wisconsin, but the building caved in.

The Mayor of Middleton announced that Mustard lovers should not fear, a new location will be announced soon.

It’s a mustard museum.

Mustard.

This is a true WTF museum.

Mustard.

There are two kinds of mustard: yellow and not yellow.

Levenson’s beloved Boston Red Sox had just lost the World Series to the New York Mets and a depressed Levenson went to an all-night grocery to wander the aisles, the museum’s Web site said.

“He turned down the condiment aisle and heard a deep resonant voice as he passed the mustards: “If you collect us, they will come.”

Levenson at that moment vowed to amass the world’s largest collection of mustards and the rest, as they say, is history.

“Mustard!” he blustered.

Flustered, he ate clustered custard.