Sunday, July 01, 2007

Holy unmixed gatorade Tac Boy (part 3)

The chief still thinks I'm a woman! exclaimed Trithunder kraut. So much for the male enhancement regimen. As he deftly throws the bottle over his shoulder.

Great balls o hot flashes ThunderKraut, those aren't male enhancement pills, those are Trimama's cellulite busters. In a pre-post-peri menopausal narcoleptic haze Trimama succumbed to late night QVC disease.

Holy busted gu packs Tac Boy, is it contagious? wiping his hands violently against his spandexed thighs.

Deadly. Must.... avoid.....HDTV..... Tac Boy exerts his superpowers to telepath the remote to his hands, with deep inner angst and conflict. There was work to do, and athletes to save, but the Tac meister had been spinning and grinding all week, and the mere suggestion of plasma nirvana was kryptonite to his mortal soul.

Holy mother of analog Tac Boy, we don't have time for televsion right now... damn that's a sweet resolution.

Unbeknownst to Tac Boy and Thunder Kraut, their arch nemesis Tri-Piddler has escaped the asylum and had taken up secret residence in the Tac-o-lair. Knowing the achilles like grip of rest upon all training athletes lives, The Piddler would use their own folly against the super duo. He had stealthily replaced the Tac Lair's antiquated set with a HD 1080p super system with digital surround......The Piddler had them now......

(posted by Trimama)


Bigun said...

mmmmmmm....HD....can't stop watching..."hey, TB, is the Ironman on chanel 4?"..."is channel 4 HD?"..."no..."..."then who cares? Let's watch another HD Discovery program..."

I'm sorry, I just thought that Tri-Turbo Kraut was TB's pet name for Trimama - this seams to not be the case....

Tri-Dummy said...

Tri-Turbo Kraut...the sound of it makes me wanna poo.

Bigun said...

The Chief's door flies open with a "bang" and in run Taconite Boy and his trusty workout partner Tri-Turbo Kraut (their HR's well below LT)...

Chief: It's about time you got here - what took so long, eh?

Taconite Boy: It's Tri-Piddler, Chief, and he's escaped - he knows my weakness - he hit me with HD.

Chief: "HD"? HD? That's it? Snap out of it, TB, we've got work to do! (eh)

Looking over the Chief's shoulder, TB spies a 50" flatscreen plasma sporting crystal clear high definition ESPN (the TDF, no less)...TB goes into a trance.

Chief: TB...TB!

Tri-turbo Kraut - there he goes again, it's the HD, that damn Piddler!

Chief: Well do something, missy!

TTK pulls a 16oz water bottle from his utility belt (full of a special accelerade/gatoraide/cytomax mix) and throws it full force at the TV, smashing the screen into little HD bits...Taconite Boy instantly snaps out of it.

Chief: What the HE-double-hockey-sticks...TB, who's going to pay for this; that TV was $4,000 Canadian!?!?!

TB: C'mon Chief, you got every toy made, two bikes, both top of the line carbon, high end coffee maker, the grill of grills (angel choir singing in the background), house smak dab in the middle of triathlon-central - you can afford a new TV and you know it. Now where's the crybaby bonk artist?