Summer Swing Drills, Had Us A Blast!

7/28/11

Kenny, I want you to show Molly how to swing the sticks. I want you to start with the grip. I noticed she was holding it like a dead squirrel. Show her how to firmly caress that driver. Okay, Ken? Ken? You might wanna get some looser pants there, bud.

7/29/11

Here’s 40 bucks Ken and the number of this kid over at St. Fabian’s. Call this dude and then take Molly to the range. I think you’ll know what to do Ken. Oh yeah, and you might want to pick up a 12 pack of soda.

Meanwhile…

Oh hey uh, son, yeah, take the van. Mommy’s toast is getting warm. Get out of here, go down to the range and swing the sheleighly, Kent.

7/30/11

I don’t know Kenny, I’m not sure you should keep that video on your phone, and I think I’m going to erase the video I made of you. That was disturbing. Do you always cry?

Spit it out Kenny. Your Mom’s a lush and your Dad’s quite the sex tourist. Big whoop. Buy me another soda Kenny and then let’s go hit some more balls. I’m gonna make Dr. Scavuzzo my bitch.

 

Just for the heck of it, here is Summer Samba by one of the swingingest Brazilians I know, Walter Wanderley.

Dr. Scavuzzo will pay for his FOOZLE. But not $20.

7/25/11

7/26/11

Kenny “Mud” Lark returned home once more to his increasingly indifferent mother…”That’s nice.” she listlessly responded to his proclamation of yet another pathetic loss. Hmm, she was wearing her sexy bracelets again. He’d have to impress her in some way before she lost interest permanently. But HOW?

Ah, he knew! His full bottle of Grey Sneh Vodka…Kenny always kept it handy in the “Milford Refuses Your Recycling” bin. (That thing would never get picked up…) If he could get Ma nice and liquored up during a drive to Make-Out Point in the ol’ convertible, she was bound to let him get to at least second base. Hey, it had worked before. Usually it took about five shots before she was willing to look past his enigmatic blond-brown hair wig and Scorsese eyebrows.

Plus, Kenny supposed, reigniting things with Mom was bound to make that athletic Molly jealous…if only that evil Dr. Scavuzzo wasn’t getting in the way of his master plan. But there was time to make Scavuzzo pay. And yeah, he was gonna be one sorry son of a bitch doctor next week. Kenny wryly smirked as he wrapped him arm ever tighter around mom on the drive up the hill. It was gonna be a good night.

7/27/11

“Tell you what, miss FOOZLE. If you can FOOZLE the ball 200 FOOZLE, I’ll give you 20 FOOZLE.”
[Mighty untrained FOOZLE!]
“Having FOOZLE, Molly?”
“Other than the evil Dr. Scavuzzo and his pig FOOZLES FOOZLING at me, it’s a FOOZLE. If only someone would make that FOOZLE doctor pay.”

 

Kenny Mad! Kenny Krunch!

7/23/11

This strip can be infuriating sometimes. Case in point, I’ve been looking at the first panel for the last two days and trying to figure out how Kenny Lark’s drive went right through the tee marker and then hooked out of bounds. It took maximum mental effort on my part to determine that the KRUNCH!ing of the tee marker was a separate, deliberate action after the errant drive. Does Gil Thorp the strip  face a steeper challenge than other sequential story strips due to the characters playing sports as opposed to sitting around talking or is this just sloppy (or have I just become dumber by following this strip)? Oh well, at least we have an exciting new sound effect to add to the repertoire and I suppose it is nice to see some completely nutty (albeit golf inspired) violence.

Meanwhile, Kenny’s debt to the club is the least of his troubles. His legs have clearly begun to melt. That’s probably why he hooked his drive. The weight transfer was impossible to achieve on those rubber limbs (and we needn’t mention the crotch problem).

Last and definitely least…Kemper and Brian, who have been wagering on Kenny’s episodes of rage. Speaking of violence, I’d like to play a chip shot off of the intermediate rough on top of Kemper’s head. What a pinhead! What a fun summer!

Did I say Brazil? What I meant was “He’s still dead.”

7/20/11

“Oh…Hey sweetie. I was just pouring myself a glass of wine, then napping on top of this comfortable book.”
“Wait, what’s a ‘book’? In any case, I finished the wine for you.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“I dunno, Brazil, I guess.”
“Brazil?!? What the hell is he doing there? Last I checked I sent him to that nice travel agent our friend Mr. Bakst recommended right before he disappeared into the vast void of nothingness.”
“Wait, what’s a ‘travel agent’?”

7/21/11

“So Kenny, I hear your Mom likes the sauce.”
“How’d you know?”
“I read the last couple comics.”
“Blah-blah Costa Rica nobody cares.”
“I’m glad you’re here. This first match looks tough, and with you swinging that ridiculous looking club backwards, we should be all set. I’m off to your mom’s bedroom. But only to drink.”
“Hey, this isn’t a club, it’s my Fisher Price ‘My First Butterfly Net’!”

7/22/11

“Wait, Horseshoe Bay? Charlie Vincent? Kemper, are you saying that today’s episode, which is teetering exceptionally close to the edge of complete incomprehensibility, is really just a shout-out to one of Neal Rubin’s buddies?”
“Nah…The real Charlie Vincent who lives in Horseshoe Bay and at some point lived it Michigan is 71, not 70. But he drives like a 70-year-old.”
“Nooo..Not there!”
“Uh, what?”

Kenny stepped on a crack. Details at 11.

7/18/11

“Sorry I yelled. My excuse is that I’m not as big an asshole as everyone else here.”
“Not as big, eh? That’s too bad. But I guess I don’t wish that your Mom drops dead anymore.”

7/19/11
 

OK so Chud-Lark’s mom is:

A) Passed out from a day of drinkin’ with Gil.
B) Riddled with cancer after a guest spot over at Funky Winkerbean.
C) Dead from boredom after reading the plot of this comic.

Caddyshat (aka Nutboy Professor II: The Chuds)

7/14/11

What a fun variation on the Gil Thorp theme of uncompensated coaching by transitory characters. Gil directs one of his golf camp students to tutor an inept caddie that the golf club inexplicably hired. I’m sure Gil will be lauded for his selfless efforts in this matter.

7/15/11

Okay Professor Kenny, learn the distances that aren’t marked. Like how far is it  from this tree to that tree over there? How far is this pine cone from that sand trap? How far is it from the parking lot to the practice bunker? There are infinite distances to memorize. I’ll be here forever. (Feels familiar, don’t it?)

By the way, more information about C.H.U.D. can be found on the internet (or in the comments from the previous post).

7/16/11

Wow, way to turn on the charm, Kenny! Wait, “after two stony holes…”, what?!

Because I couldn’t muster much commentary for this thrilling turn of events, here’s a limerick “inspired” by the summer plot:

Young Kenny Lark had a plan
to get Molly reclined in his van.
When the Dodge started rocking
Kenny saw something shocking.
Turns out Molly Kinsella’s a man!

Thorpian limericks anybody? Who’s got ‘em?

Caddie on, my wayward Molly

7/12/11

Not caring to research anything new about golf, I am unclear whether hiring a caddie who knows nothing about the game is a normal practice. Is it? Maybe Molly got her job by showing all the golfers what’s inside her soda box…making Mr. Borque’s eye explode, no doubt.

Also, what’s the deal with caddies anyway? Why can’t these ass-clowns carry their own clubs?

7/13/11

 

Hey look, Gil’s working his magic and getting idiots to work for free again!

I find amusing whenever a panel depicts folks with their hands raised in reaction to the dialogue being spoken in that very same panel…It’s as if they’re blowing apart the cartoon space-time continuum. Why am I talking about the cartoon space-time continuum? Because dammit, you can’t force me to talk about golf. Not even Chef Brian Aaron is gonna make me talk more about golf today. Well…unless I can make another putz-putts pun. No? Where’s slam-dunkin’ Ben Franklin when you need him?

Don’t sell yourself short Gil, you’re a tremendous slouch.

7/11/11

How do you make a discussion of a minor traffic run-in remotely interesting? Well, having  the bad driver admit he’s whacked out on crystal meth is one way, I guess. Kenny doesn’t need Gil to mentor him, he needs Ty Webb.

While on the course:
How do you punish insolent golfers who verbally abuse their caddies? Oh I dunno, kill all the golfers?