In dreary mists of dawn's despair, at TBR, a sinister riddle unfolded. A conspiracy of shadows, I summoned Spam, a master of Warmarama, and entreated him to lead a guise of the Q, he did heed. In such a subterfuge, deceit's sweet dance, a "ruse" as Randall of Clerks deemed, this sole moment of levity, did advance.

Through the abyss of warmarama, Spam's leadership slayed, imperial walkers, arm circles, a dreadful parade. Mountain climbers in torturous stride, slow merkins and squats, our souls to deride. With trembling limbs and feeble constitution, we ventured into the realm of absolution.

Absolution, a task profound, not easily dispensed, revealed our wretched state, our weakness immense. The PAX, though valiant, in their futile quest, their attempts at redemption, a pitiable jest.

For the main event, absolution's embrace, like confession's agony, we faced. Through contrition, we ventured, and penance was our doom, a Super Mario path, groiners in the gloom. Back we fled, to undergo three more rounds, but the Makhtar N'Diayes confounded, our souls it bound.

With trembling hearts, we hopped like cursed rabbits, halfway we journeyed, the Makhtar N'Diayes our habits. Thrice more absolutions, our chilly jacks a sin, bear crawling, we paid for the absolution within.

Alas, our absolutions still in despair, a transformation we needed, the burden to bear. A trinity of deconstructed agony we did find, aussie burpees, bobby hurleys, plank jacks entwined. In the throes of a monsoon's relentless cry, the PAX, like fallen angels, dared not reply.

In the shelter of the garage, we sought refuge from the storm's cruel barrage. In honor of FNK's innocence, pure and fair, an absolution Dora we dared declare. A hundred groiners, bobby hurleys two hundred, and three hundred plank jacks, a daunting, relentless burden.

With a resolute spirit, we embraced our fate, like Ricky Bobby's resounding call, we could not abate. We performed a pair of absolution Ricky Bobbies, lunge-style and bear crawl, our essence unshaken, our resolve standing tall.

Mary, the guardian of our weary souls, her respite sought to make us whole. Pointers, reverse crunches, to the heavens we reached, and flutter kicks, like demons, were leached. Fifteen HIMs and one HIFNK, their absolutions flawless, a sight for the divine to thank.

As we departed, our thoughts intertwined, of 2nd F events, Briar Chapel's barbecue, for the Bull did remind. Red October, on his journey we mused, Uzi delved into politics, our thoughts subsumed. In the dimming twilight, we gathered in a reverent hush, YHC led the COT, thoughts on humility did gush.

Absolution, both in exercise and repentance, a merciless trial, a grievous sentence. To grow, humility's path we must tread, embracing our weaknesses, dispelling dread. In absolution's theme, my weak core found grace, and in defending the vulnerable, humility we embrace. For as the sage Rick Warren did impart, "Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it's thinking of yourself less," a noble path to start. To place others ahead, our true quest, in humility, we are truly blessed.