Well, holy crap biscuits, the whole day has gotten away from me, I’m staring down the barrel of a long weekend where I intend to probably go at least partially insane, and I haven’t come up with anything to say about this “court” for kangaroos with misshapen heads and weirdly parted hair.
I like Judge Gil: “Yeah, enough out of you, douche. Everybody here thinks you’re a douche so you pretty much know where this is going, so zip it. Jimmy, can you tell the court in your own words what kind of douchery this douche has been perpetrating?”
“Shaddap! What part of Knox talks, then Jimmy talks did you not get?”
“I know coach, but I mean there’s not even the slightest hint of impartiality…”
“You can’t handle the truth!”
“I said, ‘You can’t handle the truth!’”
“I heard you, but why?”
“I ask the questions. Over to you Jimmy. Is this the douche in question?”
“Uh yeah, coach, I thought I was going to tell my side….”
“I think we’ve heard enough. Jury, who here thinks this douche needs to shut his yap and play ball and if he ever mentions the SpeedCo or that yutz who slipped there last winter he should get stuffed in a locker until football season?”
“Huh? Sure, yeah. Uh huh, that’s what we’ve been saying! Yeah.”
“Alright, I’ve made my ruling. Rusty the Bailiff has some paperwork for you to sign. I’ll retire to my chambers to polish off some paperwork, then I’ll be be firing up the BBQ!”
Smell ya later!
So, Knocker, Mimi and Gil are all heartless jerks, thinking about themselves first. Darby’s the one with the broken wrist who still has to deal with Jaxxxon, who probably ate his weight in Gummi Vits before Darby could get any medical attention at the FoodCo. Arthur Ashe and his buddy look on with barely contained contempt at Foley’s fist pump of selfishness. But before Knocko can get a cast punch in the jewels….
All rise, court is in session, the Honorable Gilbert T. Thorp presiding. Hey Coach, can we discuss sentencing guidelines first? Is locking Foley in EQUIPMENT SHED under a pile of MRSA infested wrestling mats allowable? You said, whatever we decide.
Are you guys gonna be long? I have to strip and wax the court tonight.
Give us a second, Steve. This shouldn’t take long.
I have to say, the way the artist executes Mimi’s concern, quickly morphing into cynical brooding about the fortunes of her softball team is pretty spot on. I’ll even ignore the weirdness of the cast.
What Mimi, needs is a little sage advice from the Gilfather:
“Oh, there there, honey. Don’t you realize that missing the playdowns is the result you want? No bus rides to Paducah and an earlier retreat to our luxurious veranda and some of that 180 proof lemonade! What’s more, when you can have an injured star player to absorb the blame you can practically throw in the towel a few weeks earlier. Say, I accidentally poured too much coffee in this cup and now I won’t have enough room for, um, cream…Here ya go hon.”
Jaxxxon gets loose? That kid is too big to sit in the shopping cart. Did Darby have him on a leash? Oh no! Look out for that irresponsibly stacked display of Gummi Vits!
Well, what did you think would happen, FoodCo? You stacked a bunch of colorful jars (trust me, I peaked at the color version) at chimp level, then you buffed the floor to a Steve Luhm sheen. How can you afford to keep your doors open? Given this high risk situation, there’s probably an opportunistic slip & fall attorney standing nearby with cell phone at the ready to record this whole fiasco.
Our astute commenters were already onto this latest twist: Bring on the junior douche of the Foley Law Group to offer injured Darby Kiser some unsolicited legal advice and then transition awkwardly into another request for an invitation to her pants.
Alright Kaz, get out that bailiff outfit from your costume closet and I’ll get my air-conditioned robe. We’re gonna have us a little trial.
Bailiff outfit? What makes you think I have a bailiff outfit? And what do you mean air-conditioned robe?
What, you think I should go commando? Hanging judge?
Gil, what are you talking about?
I’m gonna settle the dispute between Johnny…
You mean Jimmy.
Yeah, Jimmy and Fartknocker. Approach the bench, Rusty. I’m like Roy Bean and Lance Ito and that guy jerkin’ it to Phoebe Cates in the bathroom.
Yeah, that guy.
Gil, that guy isn’t really a judge.
Whatever, are you gonna be the sexy bailiff or aren’t you?
Wait, I’m a sexy bailiff now? Gil, what exactly are we going to decide in this “trial”?
I dunno. Whatever dispute is going on between those two knuckleheads.
Gil, there’s some kind of real lawsuit involved here. I don’t think your jurisdiction extends to awarding monetary judgements in a premises liability case.
Wow, that sounded all official and lawyery! Maybe you should be the judge and I’ll be the sexy bailiff! Here come de judge! Here come de judge!
Gil, how much propane did you inhale from that grill?
You’re out of order!
Here comes Jaxon! He’s a Bozo, a hairless bonobo, creating havoc at the A&P, flinging poo like a chimpanzee. He’s Jaxon! A bastard in jorts, his mom’s into sports…He’s Jaaaaxxxxon!
Jaxxxon! Get away from that lobster tank!
Now this is more like it! Marty Moon gets wind of the dopey squabble among the Mudlarks and races back to the station (HA! HA! HA!) to dish the dirt for all the Milford shut-ins who turn to the radio for their infotainment! Classic! Boy that Marty can sure turn a phrase. A rocky place? Like Edwina McDunnough’s insides in Raising Arizona.
Meanwhile, Gil makes himself a snack. Hmmm, going with a Mary Worth grip on that spatula?
Now I don’t know about the rest of you, but if Marty Moon had a radio show, I’d be tuning in, recording it, digitizing it and archiving it for posterity because I’m sure his paranoid ranting probably would make Art Bell sound like All Things Considered. But why would Gil bother? He’s generally dismissive of Marty and everything he has to say. Maybe Gil hasn’t figured out how to work his fancy Bose Wave radio and it’s been stuck on WDIG forever. Or perhaps Marty broke in to the regular Saturday afternoon Polka Show to deliver his late breaking news story.
So they actually did it! Well, that’s something.
“C’mon guys! It’s dark in here and it’s all hot and it hurts and stuff!”
You know, the feeling never lasts. It just doesn’t.
Milford’s DP Combo? That sounds dirty.
Okay historians, is Marty making these names up in a sippy cup fueled crate reverie or did those guys actually appear in the strip?
Oh boy, this is going to make a great story! [/Mark Trail]