T Nation

T-Nation is Dogma


T-Nation is Dogma
T-Men are Dogmatic

Class is on the verge of ending and my backpack is loaded with gear. Within seconds of standing up from my seat to begin the journey to the gym, clanking of sturdy metal caused by dip belt and blast straps resonates throughout the room like music to my ears. My routine leads me down a hill towards the edge of Lake Washington where I spend my recreational time in the same facility as rock climbers, racquetball, basketball, archery, roller skating, swimming, weight lifting, and tons of stunning young college ladies wearing makeup suited to impress.

The girls continue with their deep...deep... stretching, perhaps not so naive as to be obliviously blind regarding 'discreet' opportune stares from those who hold a special value in the natural beauty of our species. Yet...they must be put to the back of my mind to concentrate on the matters at hand.

I'm here to train. I'm here to train.

Still a Novice in the Iron Game, I--like those who came before me--do vow to pay respect to my elders and to the almighty man upstairs TC Luoma. If I were Catholic, I would pay my dues by dressing myself in a Jesus-esque cloth, but I believe it is my duty to follow the dress code principles of the Iron Messiah. My physical appearance in the gym causes me to stand out among the sleeveless bros shamelessly flexing in the mirror, among the many that wear gel-heeled basketball shoes while squatting, and among the squat rack curling pencil necks.

Today is Squatting day. Dressed in navy blue sweatpants, a $2 Hanes plain white t-shirt, high white socks, and high top Chuck Taylors, I hereby declare that there is no god but Biotest and TC Luoma is his profit. As the overwhelming thoughts of my faithfulness fill throughout my neural passageways, I am again reminded of why I am here today.

I'm here to train. I'm here to train.

Training is the T-Man philosophy due to the belief that being in the Gym is about serious training while reserving other moments of his busy life for affairs of the scantily-clad female variety. T-Men not only enjoy company with many women of fantastic quality, they also have their complete choosing of the those particularly fine T-Vixens. Simultaneously, a T-Man is not defined or limited by his muscles.

Besides eating raw cucumbers and feeding beef jerky to females (which arise male primal instincts as attractive females gnaw protein-loaded animal meat), being a T-Man is to follow a particular dogma. T-Men base their religious experiences on the successful application of pious text from prophets such as Christian Thibadeau, Tim Patterson, Chris Shugart, and his holiness Dave Tate.

Along my spiritual path, I have discovered through the Gospel a grave event that must be exposed. T-Men and T-Vixens, Brace yourselves to accept the fact that there is proof of Professor X's existence. Many people here thought he was busy with military dentistry, but this is only partly true. By replacing his own dental teeth structures with that of one of his patients, he became eligible to align with the morally elite fighting force force that spreads freedom from our home to yours. ProfessorX is the newest member of

and I happily report that he has railed each and every bombshell female teammate. Cheers to you ProfX.

America. Fuck Yeah.


Fruity Pebbles is probably the best cereal ever.


I raise you Cookie Crisp.


I see your cookie crisp and raise you Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cereal.


You'd think chocolate Lucky Charms would be even more amazing than than the regular, but it's actually disappointing.

You can't beat brightly-colored marshmallows for any meal of the day.


Are you kidding me?

Cinnamon Toast Crunch will dominate the world in the near future.

Whole grain as well.


I love World Of Warcraft.


I thought we were finally over that whole "T-Man/T-Vixen" idiocy.

Dude, next time just masturbate or something.



I once smoked a spider. It was green, so I figured, "what the hell?".

It didn't do anything.


Me and my friend smoked some hops once. Surprisingly we got drunk. It was either that or the vodka, I'm not sure.


You can dip a cigar in cognac though...


Last night I had a dream about being at McDonalds.
The number seven combo was a burger called "the Caramello."
There was either jello or pudding on it, but I didn't have enough money either way.

Comprehensive interpretation says I'm broke and can't afford shit.
Right now I'm running tests on how long I can live off scrambled eggs.

So far it's not going so well. I cant afford eggs. Pray for me.

I dropped my cell phone in a puddle last night.
If you need to get ahold of me, start cooking some eggs and open the window up, then gently waft the aroma into a passing spring breeze.. before coming to pick me up...
My car is gone, but I've got a new home.

When I moved out, my stepdad gave me a ziploc of biscotti, one bag of Lays ruffled chips, a bottle of Guinness, and a scratch and win lottery card.

The ziploc hasn't yet been opened, and the chips almost made me puke.
I chugged that beer and nothing happened.

The scratch and win Bonus Box gave me ten bucks.

I bought eggs.


Well, that's two minutes of my life I'm never getting back.


Got 70s?


Got milk?


Whoa...this thread actually makes me want some S'morez cereal...didn't see that one coming.


I didn't think I played that much, til I quit, then it was like I found 2 more days in the week. I miss my Tauren though.


Looks like I fail at satire :confused:

P.S. Honey Nut Cheerios are the bomb.


Na, not realy. We're just bastarts.