Homestar Runner's blue soles thump against the spongy, rubbery,red-brown material, one foot after the other, in a stride somewhere between a run and a series of short skipping jumps. The sun cooks the athletic field, the blue sky rippling with heat, and sweat runs down Homestar's face. He finishes his current lap around the track and starts in on a new one.
Yes, the athletic field has a track now. It's been recently renovated. Also, it has a swimming pool filled with V8 juice, because when you're writing a fanfic you can do anything you want.
Homestar finishes two more laps before coming to a halt. He bends over, torso parallel to the ground and lungs heaving. "A hundred. Whoo…and I'm done for the day. Man, I'm pawched! I need a drink."
For the record, Homestar does not actually run a hundred laps every day. He simply runs until he can't run anymore and says "a hundred" at the end. He does keep count of his laps, mostly out of principle, but typically loses count at around six.
Homestar walks to Strong Bad's house, dripping sweat all the way, and opens the door. "Strong Bad!" he calls out, walking in past the computer. "I'm coming into your house!" There is no reply, so he drops his tone to a normal speaking voice, as there's no need to shout for an absentee Strong Brother. "I'm going to borrow some of your bevewages. So if you'd rather I not, just let me know," —his voice goes just a touch higher— "and I'll gladly cease and desist."
Still no reply.
"Oh!" he says, "I guess it's fine then." He walks into the kitchen and opens the door.
There, in the refrigerator, is Strong Sad.
"Stwong Sad? What are you doing in the refrigerator?"
"It's part of a three-step process to become more liked," Strong Sad explains, inexplicably not showing the slightest signs of cold. "The first step was to go cooler, and this seemed the most expeditious way. I can only hope it produces results."
Homestar paces around, peers into the 'fridge from different angles. "How are you fitting in thewe, anyway?"
Suddenly the phone rings. "I'll get it!" Homestar says. He sprints over, raising the phone armlessly to the side of his head. "Stwong Bad's house, Homestar speaking. How may I direct your call?"
A familiar voice garbles: "IS YOUR REFRIGERATOR RUNNING?"
Step 1: Go Cooler