10/23/09
Yeah, Gil.You should have told him to start drinking and getting into fights. Mimi’s idea is much better than whatever your bad advice was.
10/24/09
Discussion of bowling, boy scouts, square dancing and croquet by hideous scar-faced teens is about to be interrupted by A PRISON FIGHT. Woo-hoo!
10/26/09
Minor beef? Lame. Or is that just what’s for dinner? Looks like whatever they’re serving is getting washed down with yummy Sticks o’ Lard*.
Meanwhile, something that is apparently hilarious at practice, though the only funny thing I can make out is that Gil is in attendance. And that’s not ha-ha funny. At least now we know massive psychological problems can be easily swept under the rug by having your friends take you for some occasional croquet. Rockin’.
*Now 93% Nutboy free!
10/20/09
10/21/09
10/22/09
Aha, we finally figured out what happened to the key character of the last few months. I’m talking of course about Mr. Bakst, who after booking a bus trip to Charleston, got confused (after all he was in the South, in a town starting with “Charl”…who wouldn’t get confused?) and ended up at some bar in Charlotte, whereupon he encountered Danny Daley. Mr. Bakst asked him if he was any relation to Tim Daly, which seemed quite odd to Danny as Mr. Bakst didn’t even know his name when he asked this question. Naturally a conversation such as this one turned heated, and one broken jaw and a concussion later Danny “not Davey and hell no, don’t call me Tim” Daley found himself in the Catawba Correctional Center. (Name dropped due to all Neal’s friends who live there.)
Up next (my imagination version): DannyDaveyDaley demonstrates how to make a shiv out of a straw, use it to escape, and exact bloody revenge on all idiots who ever mentioned Tim Daly to him.
Up next (boring actual version): Gil pretends to care about a player, at least to avoid having him murder anyone other than Marty Moon. Neal continues to write about high school students with hot tempers, big egos, or both, because hey, he’s only covered that about five other times recently so how could it get old, Tim?
10/16/09
Valerie reacts to this game the same way we all are. Though in fairness to Jam-Jar, the only other person he could have dedicated the touchdown to was the weird in a suit with a bucket on his head.
10/17/09
Poor Murph “Wolfman” Wolman. He had to play the whole game behind a guy who snaps the ball out of the back of his skull. Who know back-ass-wards Pez dispensers could play center?
But wait…the game will go on into next week. Cry quietly to yourselves.
10/19/09
Hooray for the Wolfman! Despite his Mr. Potato Head arms, he holds onto the ball for the score and wins the game! Thanks a lot, Dumkin. Trees of Milford beware the post-game rampage.
10/13/09
As Bart Simpson once said, “George Burns was right. Show business is a hideous bitch goddess.” And by that I clearly mean “Keeping this damned blog up to date is hard. Especially when I care more about what ever happened to Mr. Bakst than anything that’s happened in the last two months time.”
Speaking of not that, it appears Wee Jam-Jar Jamkins is only about 12 inches tall and about to have his leg torn off by his giant stalkee! Look out Wee Jam-Jar!
10/14/09
“Wait, you mean to tell me he’s not drinking heavily AND not punching strangers in the face? I’m glad you saw me about this, kid. I’ll take care of the first problem, and my fine associate Kaz will take on the second.”
Later:
Kaz and Gil get bored at practice, because well, they’re actually at practice for some reason. So they decide to make stroke faces at each other until PUB opens.
10/15/09
Wait. You’re shittin’ me. The quarterback of the Jefferson Jeffs is named Murph Wolfman? MURPH WOLFMAN?? Why do recent storylines revolve around tools named Shep and Elmer and sometimes even Casper, and the quarterback who we’ll never hear about again after this game (so the next two days, two weeks, who knows?) has the most awesome name this side of Chest Rockwell?
I demand a spin-off comic involving wacky opposites Murph Wolfman and Mr. Bakst, as they track professional criminals through the mean streets of Charleston. And who knows? Maybe our old friend Kaz will stop by with a case of Nutboys! Perhaps then I’ get back to updating this hideous bitch goddess of a blog every day.
[Update after a few hours sleep: Yep. Apparently I read Wolman as "Wolfman". Wolman is really not as funny. So let's all agree that they said "wolfman", OK?]
10/10/09
Oh, good. Everything’s fine. Glad that’s resolved. Except is Robb seven feet tall, or merely driving a midget car? If you don’t care, say “SLAM!” (Or are you just angry that someone stole your front porch?)
10/12/09
Jam-Jam Giddy would like to remind you that when you’re not busy wondering what’s wrong with that sociopath Duncan, that you can be amused extremely irritated by his wacky antics borderline sexual harassment of a chick with a moustache.
Meanwhile…
“Got a minute coach?”
“Can’t you see I’m in the crapper?”
“Isn’t this your office?”
“Same thing now. Budget cuts.”
10/5/09
“…Yep, and the doc also said the best way to heal the injury was to walk around rubbing my upper arm, and to carry around these lead weights everywhere.”
“Are you sure he’s a real doctor?”
“Sure, of course Skippy the Angry Janitor is a real doctor. He even showed me his degree from Cancun Tech!”
Then some other stuff happened.
10/6/09
Having hit rock bottom already by starting Charles Bloom at the start of the season, the Mudlarks are forced to dig themselves even deeper by trotting out a college golfer at QB.
Luckily nobody cares, as they’ve scheduled the game against the Newton Railroaders of Kansas. Hopefully when Milford is done stinking, Newton will be able to help ride them out of town on one of their spare rails.
10/7/09
Poor Kaz. Since Gil is busy skipping his AA meeting, and nobody told Coach Shaw that there was a game, he’s stuck to send the punting unit on the field every thirty seconds or so. By the time the Mudlarks start to wear down, the three bored shadow fans and Marty Moon have all gone home, leaving only Kaz and Skippy, who has a creepy habit of standing way too close to people, to watch the confusing game. So…many…appendages!
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