Classic TC Quotes

This thread is dedicated to quotes from TC that have inspired you, made you laugh, or were awesome for your own reasons! :smiley:

Here’s mine:

"Oh yeah, and screw Crossfit and their like. What, you have so little imagination that you need a website for housewives and pampered stockbrokers to give you your daily, completely arbitrary workout?

Friday’s workout:

Run 400 meters

Do 20 push-ups

Dance like a cast member of the Broadway musical Cats for 15 minutes

That’s a workout! You’re all winners!



Nice topic. Here’s one that hit home for me:

“Life is full of naked women that you’ll never see. It’s the single most vexing thing about life so get used to it.”

“…Tim…I swear…Shugart wrote that, no me…!!!”


I like it when TC talks about Akron, Ohio, because I feel like he is talking to me. TC is my imaginary friend.

Sweet thread.

“Testosterone, and its partner in crime, man-hood, is like standing on a bluff overlooking the ocean on a sunny day and diving in, emerging from the spray like King Neptune, only to be greeted by something beautiful with big tits laying in the sand.”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand Luigi, but the people like me practice denial to the point of sometimes being almost monastic. We often avoid people, social events, and rich food, all in the single-minded pursuit of a kind of perfection.”

Sweet idea.

TC after reading through Cosmopolitan…

"I was now in a non-discriminatory, lycanthropic trance, and I sidled up to a gum-smacking, acne-dotted Wal-Mart clerk, noting how her sweat-stained smock complimented her fireplug-like figure. I stole a brief glance at her badge and said, in the smoothest, Whiskey-drinkin’ tone I could muster, “Agnes, could you tell me where the condoms are, the really, really big ones?”

Agnes pushed up her already smudgy Gloria Vanderbilt glasses with her palm and pointed to Aisle 5. Whatever chance we had at romance was interrupted by the tinny, overhead speaker asking for a price check on Dr. Scholl’s bunion pads. Agnes shuffled away, a trail of price stickers – and my heart – affixed to her left orthopedic shoe. We were not to couple then, or ever."

"But the fat ladies in blue Spandex tights, the blue whales, would never admit what they’re reading is porn. Never! But they do object to visual glorification of female flesh.

When I lived in Denver, droves of these women came out to object a high school fundraising stunt where girls in bathing suits would wash your car. Apparently, this would lead to… hell, I don’t know. My mind is either so evil or so pure, I can’t even imagine what the problem would be."

"Similarly, another group of blue whales protested the opening of a gentleman’s club that was opening up across the street from a children’s dance studio. Either they were worried about their little girls leaving the dance studio, seeing some topless dancers arriving for work, and putting two and two together to arrive at the conclusion that was what they were practicing for – to become professional nonnie shakers – or they were simply fighting against the “seedy element” that habitually hangs out at strip clubs.

You know who hangs out at strip clubs? Me and Tommy Lasorda."

"Make sex more interesting for him

Say for instance, your man is a hockey fan. Stripping naked and placing a net across your vagina would make for an interesting sexual interlude. For added effect, place a red light bulb in your mouth and have it light up when he satisfies you."

“And then they have less sex, because I swear, that leather outfit I bought you from the Adam and Eve website makes you look like an unfortunate feral pig that got caught in a discarded plastic six-pack holder when it was a piglet and then grew up around it so that its body is grossly malformed into a forced hourglass shape.”

“RJ, would you just shut the fuck up?”

Changed my life.

“She’s plenty mentally ill, but just because she flings her feces against the wall doesn’t mean she’s Jackson Pollock.”

That’s not a quote.

It’s a TEXT.

TC (as a child) at summer camp:

"Then they told this other one about some bodybuilder who had been doing squats with a thousand pounds and blown out his guts and died and now he walks around the woods looking for little kids to help him stuff his guts back in! That one got me pretty scared, especially when I heard something rustling behind me. It wasn?t the guy with the spilled guts, though, it was only Mr. Weeder hiding in the bushes. He was whispering something about wanting to show me something “really thick and veiny.”

I threw a rock at him and ran.

Well, I have to go to bed now but I?ll write some more tomorrow.


Your son, TC

For me, hands down, his article on stress is his best work and came at a very pertinent time for me:

A little quote . . .

[i]“. . . regardless of my present funk, I’ll be back at the gym tomorrow. I’ve even devised a wicked little powerlifting/bodybuilding combo that’s so brutal it’s bound to create a spectacle of sorts. And as the pain hits and the lactic acid accumulates and my knees crumble, I’ll remember that pain is part of life. It means that I’m alive, and that, my friend, is a fine thing.”

I have so many but here are a few:

"Better yet, you know how when your date falls asleep and you get bored, so you grab her nylons and high heels off the floor and slip into the bathroom to try them on, but then the bitch catches you and takes a picture with her cell phone and threatens to post them on the Internet unless you give a her a thousand dollars? "…Bare Down There (9-23-05)

Mankind can do without reading about “Celebrity Success Stories,” such as the one that featured a description of Celine Dion’s husband’s sperm count. Being married to Celine Dion is probably the only thing worse than listening to her music, so it’s a given that his Testosterone levels–and hence his sperm levels–are about as low as her CD sales at Louie Simmon?s Westside Barbell.-2004 Soy Awards

In the interest of full disclosure, I did date an Olympic gymnast once. The thought of a tiny girlfriend who was portable and tasty was intriguing. She would be like the girlfriend equivalent of a TV dinner. What’s more, she was so small, I could even nail her on the TV dinner tray while watching “The Price is Right”!

I took her to my place after dinner but made the mistake of showing her my collection of Cabbage Patch dolls in erotic positions. She got spooked and ran under the coffee table and refused to come out. When I bent down and swatted at her with a rolled up newspaper, she vaulted over me and scurried into the space between the refrigerator and the wall. Were it not for the broomstick I kept in the corner, she’d still be back there living off crumbs.-This Olympic Moment (8-20-04)

Perhaps worse than extinction is extinction with insignificance. Will my life count? Will I leave a trace that has meaning? Would that fearful child I once was, if he were confronted by me–his future, adult self–think I was a cool guy, the superhero he dreamed of? Or would he shake his head, mutter “what a loser,” and pull the covers farther up over his head?-On Death and Dying(9-3-04)

You’ve set your sites on a can of tasty peaches that’s on a pretty high shelf, so you’re probably not going to be able to reach it.

You might as well leave it off your list so you don’t agonize over it, or at least shoot a little lower. I once dated a girl who posed for the Sears catalog in her underwear. They were oversized ones that were embroidered with “Monday,” Tuesday", etc. but heck, I was going out with an underwear model.

So when I die, I at least got that going for me.-12 things you don’t have to do (9-22-06)

I enjoy the ones that are a kick in the ass.

“Those are not problems. You know what to do to lose weight. In a take-off of Nike’s slogan, just fucking do it. You know how to gain muscle, hell, we’ve printed about a thousand articles about it. Just fucking do it. If you can’t, and you’ve no underlying medical problem, you’re just weak willed. Can’t stand the taste of cottage cheese? For chrissake, shove it down your throat, you pussy!”

his entire “Vision Quest” article( )… it’s outstanding.

He gives a smug little smile and returns to his book and his soymilk double-frappe-fuckalatte.


“Bare Down There”

But because I lift, my T-shirts are invariably tight. As a result, I get this lumpy, matted hair look. It’s like when I tell the twins, Gucci and Thor, to clean up their room, and instead of actually putting things away, they just throw everything on the bed and toss a bedspread over it.

There are so many. This entire article is filled with good ones:

Like an angry weasel in a gunny sack is a classic image. Then there’s this:

“Once in awhile, you furtively tip toe into the bedroom to excavate a pair of those exotic, memory-filled panties, place them against your face and sniff and snort like a pig looking for truffles, but instead of getting a scent of her perfumed Yoo-Hoo, you just get a semi-lethal dose of Lemon Pledge and have to make an appointment to see an asthma specialist.”