Full Facial Football

8/27/10

It’s over?

8/28/10

It’s OVER! Hooray! And to celebrate, Chris Stiles is smothered by three giant sets of hands, while simultaneously being clubbed with the world’s ugliest trophy. He unfortunately survives, only to taunt us with the prospect of hiding in the bushes nearby, biding his time, waiting to bore us all whenever things get too interesting in Milford.

Sorry Chris, I think you’re gonna be in hiding for a while.

8/30/10

OH PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET THAT BE WATER.

8/31/10

I may not know the best way to show (please let that be) water dripping off a face, but now I know the worst.

So what do we know about Cody Exner? That he was a freshman RB/DB at Tri-Valley in New York last year, and his name is an anagram of “coy ex-nerd.” What does this all mean? That I’ve spent more time researching Cody than any other character this entire year. Mostly to get my mind off the (please let that be) water-in-the-face fiasco.

Moving at the speed of golf

8/25/10

At last we have the answer to the question that nobody asked: What do you get when you fuse the DNA of Sacko and Hatt with an industrial drum of lard from the Milford cafeteria? The guy from panel one!

Meanwhile, sluttie Torrie wants YOU next (because after all, she may have let Gil have her sloppy seconds fifths, but she’d much rather go at it next with a Gil Thorp blog reader than the Gil Thorp blob eater behind her…)

8/26/10

“Oh wow…he’s got no shot with me now. Guess I better see what Daddy thinks when I sleep with Kemper instead.”

What a follow-up for Chris! That bank shot looks like it’s gonna go all of about three feet to his right. (Or about as far as this plot has taken us thus far into the summer…)

Gil finds the back door to the clubhouse…

8/21/10

Swell, if the third panel is to be believed, this is all going to degrade into gay porn. Oh well…it would still beat an entire week of a boring golf tournament featuring cardboard characters.

8/23/10

Awwwww crap. Did he just say there’s a long way to go?  This is the first time I ever hoped that gay porn in Gil Thorp would happen, just to liven things up.

8/24/10

Hmm, a little hand foreplay in panel two. That’s something.

Hey wait a minute! Gil is standing awfully close to Torrey there. And those two creepy pervs sure are enjoying watching something. (So clearly they can’t be watching golf.) It looks like Gil found the back entrance to the clubhouse! Great…I’m no longer bored, but I’m sure as hell sick to my stomach.

Edit-Yer-Own Comix Fun!

8/19/10

“Carl Peake Neal Rubin sabotaged Kemper’s opponents another summer? Why?”
“Half a dozen reasons tee times, all of them ridiculous early…”
“He has twice the potential blood alcohol level of these other kids cartoonists. He just needs to break through quit writing this strip so that someone who has the potential to make it less crappy can take over.”
“How would you know about potential?”
“You clearly have no idea what golf  is supposed to be never read Marmaduke!”

(For more edit-yer-own comix, check out this summer o’ 2008 edition!)

8/20/10

Hey look: Carl Peake has just completed the first-ever one-day full-body genital exchange: He’s gone from total dick to complete pussy in just 24 hours!

It ain’t all confetti!

8/17/10

“Kemper Peake? Cheating? That sounds serious! And here I’ve been busy trying to ignore the whole situation.”
“Well word down at the caddy barn is that…”
“Hold on….”Caddy barn“? What the f*** is that? A new pub? And who the hell are you anyway?”
“Oh, Gil, I’m clearly a figment of your fuzzy, booze-riddled imagination. I’m just here to provide exposition, and to show you what life would be like if you never had a summer plot.”
“OK, then. But why do you look like Rip Taylor?”
“I dunno. It’s your gay fantasy, dude.”

8/18/10

“Hey, Hot Carl. I heard from my homosexual confetti-tossing imaginary friend that your son is cheating!”
“Well is there any proof? Or can we keep doing it?”
“Uh…I guess you should stop. We need to get started with football soon, and I need to wrap up this nonsense and get over to the Caddy Barn while it’s still happy hour.”
“Can I join ya? I know how to scam free drinks there.”
“Amazing.”

Dumber and Dumbererer

8/13/10

A minor event? How many damned events are there? Whale Rock isn’t really a country club that I can tell, but it IS a hole at the Red Rocks Country Club…only ten miles from my house. Crap, they’re closing in on me!

8/14/10

82? That’s what my IQ is after enduring this plot. (And getting smacked in the head with a flying heart.) Wait..what are they saying about Kemper? That he fondles his electronic penis while sitting on the couch with his sister? Because we already learned that yesterday.

8/16/10

You can tell Chris Stiles isn’t from Milford…he had a perfectly good chance to say “Ease up!” and he didn’t take it. He may not be Milford dumb, but he’s still stupid enough to construct that sentence in the third panel. Speaking of dumb, I sure wish I had an IQ of 82. Mine is apparently dropping exponentially. (It’s currently equal to Kemper’s latest ill-gotten score.) Soon I’ll be so dim that I’ll be able to hold a reasonable conversation with Gil.

I just unliked all this on Facebook.

8/10/10

8/11/10

8/12/10

Since I have neither the time nor the energy to keep up with this lame story, let alone come up with something clever to snark about it, is a murder-murder-murder-murder-murder-suicide too much to ask for a quick wrap-up? At least then we could get Inspector Kaz on the case.

Summer of losers.

8/6/10

“I don’t get it, B. This should be findable.”
“Your ball, the one your Dad picked up and is walking away with?”
“No, the summer plot. I think it might be hiding in Charleston with Mr. Bakst.”

8/7/10

“That was weird your dad wouldn’t give me by ball back. Wanna do some coke?”
“Hey, why not? These nut-crushing shorts have destroyed any chance at getting laid later. So let’s do some blow.”

8/9/10

Wait…so Gil is still hanging around? Oh, right, he’s avoiding going home all summer. Also, the clubhouse is next to the 18th hole, so he may accidentally see a few results in between vodka tonics.

He does look pretty lit up in the second panel. Perhaps our only hope for salvation at this point is that he gets enough liquid courage to bludgeon Carl Peake to death using Kemper’s clubs. But knowing Gil, he’ll just call Kaz so they can sit and drink lemonade, idly watching as bad things happen to other people.