The Doyle Dane spin machine spins on. You see, Doyle wasn’t hugged enough as a child. He was ignored, emotionally abandoned. Until one day when he found an old marketing textbook in the trash while he was riding his skateboard alone across the campus of Milford Community College (more of an alley behind a shut down Zayre store, but hey, they got accreditation from some semi legit organization). Doyle tried to use marketing technique at every turn. In the sixth grade, he tried to “re-brand” and insisted that he be called Dub Deez. It didn’t catch on. His profile stayed low. He had bumper stickers printed up in the eighth grade that said “Doyle Dane, Get To Know Me!”, but that plan failed when he realized nobody in his age group had cars and he got punched out several times by high school kids when he tried to put them on their cars. His last ditch attempt to stick them on girls’ butts in the hallways of junior high only cemented his reputation as a creepy dweeb.
Now in high school, Doyle was shy about attempting any more self promotion (and suffering more vicious beatings), so he decided to lay low and bide his time until he could find a cause, a subject other than himself that he could elevate from obscurity to Toast of The Town. (Operation Toast of the Town was what he called it in his own head. In his own hazy vision of the future, he could almost smell the aroma of hot toast emerging from the Proctor Silex of his fertile marketing genius. He honestly thought there would be toast involved is what I’m saying). Then he laid eyes on Terry Gallagher and heard the Gaelic lilt of his voice and he knew. This would be it. His cause célèbre, his pièce de résistance, his Toast of The Town. This would elevate him to a status that he knew he was destined for, the guy who makes up all those stupid signs that people wave around at the ball game and then abandon in puddles of coke. The guy who makes up some cheer that people do for a while because they’re bored and then quickly abandon because it gets old after a few times. That guy!
Meanwhile Chip Visci is getting steamed because all he got was a french fry from his mostly anonymous girlfriend and Terry Gallagher is getting more ass than a toilet seat.
Yeah, it’s all fun and games, until you choke on one of those scrimshaw Bucket fries!
Meanwhile, Doyle moves on to phase two of Operation Toast of the Town, aka Alerting The Media. I don’t know how many of you TWIM readers also delight in the exploits of Mark Trail, a renowned journalist of the woods and wildlife beat, but if you’re at all familiar with that comic strip, you know that ol’ Mark is noted for nothing if not his nose for “a good story”. Well, Mark’s got nothing on Marjie Ducey of the Milford Star. You don’t get that swanky corner office down at Milford Media General Enterprises LLC just for rocking a provocative raspberry beret. Marjie is gonna take this thing and run with it (until that pending venture capitol takeover of MMGE LLC is formally announced and the pay cuts, layoffs and buyouts start.) Oh well Doyle, there’s always blogging.