Kowloon Once Again Upstaged By the Craziness of Chesticles

Wollaston Beach - In an apparent murder/suicide plot gone bad, Chesticles yet again nearly brought his own life and those of his teammates to an end over the weekend. While emerging details are sketchy at best, it seems that precisely when Brandon Kowloon was en route to a 1:07:12 (5:08s!) half in Hartford on Sunday, Chesticles was ladeling out his trademark heavy dose of scurrying cyanide.

In his wake, over the span of some 23 miles at a blistering clip estimated to be between 5:50 and 8:30 pace, Chesticles scattered Garcon, heretofore believed to be the Kittys' most pleasant surprise of the fall running season. Instead, now, Garcon has become the man whose daily quality effort has been co-opted by the Seven Seas of Chesticles into running a marathon every single day of his life. Alas, his poor little ticker gave out at the 22.95 mile mark. "Now that's a quality effort," summed Chesticles.

Much further back, in a pile of rubble not to be confused with a Flemmi/Bulger sculpture at UMASS Boston, lie a pair of spent harriers. Hey Bear was birthing it right along until the climax at Wollaston Beach. Early prognosis is sore hips; DL estimate is 6-6 1/2 years. Alongside the petered-out Bear rests the Wookie, who, in a valiant effort to run interference at the front in hopes of controlling the pace, literally burst into flames. "He looked good today," remarked Chesticles.

Visited by reporters at the finish line of his PR half, Kowloon, when asked to comment on Chesticles' ability to run a hard 23 on only 19 miles of weekly training, said, "Well, you know...um...it's like this...um...hmmmm...I made a good run but I run too slow, they overtake me down in Jericho."

Chesticles, meanwhile, despite being in full cardiac arrest (really, since the afforementioned Wollaston), regaled the growing crowd with stories of his carefully chosen route, equal parts history and pain, through Port Norfolk, up into Milton, racing back along the shore, to his own personal chamber of torture - the Quincy/Dorchester nasty concrete overpass. "They really never see it coming," chuckled Chesticles, who added, "I even gave them each an extra goo and pee-infused Gatorade from my special hobo stash."

Indeed, the Kittys' war of running attrition heats up as Cape Cod, New York, and Philly lie in wait in the coming weeks.