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.”
Here at This Week in MIlford, we would be remiss in not revelling the implications of perviness in Panel 1. Yes, of course, to those not skilled in looking for bizarre innuendo, it simply looks like a trainer escorting two injured players off the court (one holding a chicken cutlet to her head and the other with an eggroll taped to her shoulder). But given the putrid peacock infested winter we’ve had to endure up to this point, it’s impossible not to geek out and make as many “Jean Luc Picard escorts a couple unerage girls out to his ‘training van’” comments as possible. C’mon, Trainer Rick Scott even donned some mysterious back brace or truss of some sort. What gives? It could be an innocent fanny pack with a few more food items for any subsequent injuries, but let’s go with Sex Utility Belt.
“Sorry, Mimi. They’re done for the night. But I’m just gettin’ warmed up!”
Wait, there’s more. The Tilden Squad features the Valeey Conference’s only conjoined twins athletes, The Squint Sisters. What they lack in mobility, they make up for in wing span.
Boys. Clicking. Woo. Hoo.
We’ve secretly replaced several Mudlarks with unfrozen cavemen. Let’s see if Gil Thorp can tell the difference.
So Bobby Ottewill saw da boid, flipped out and started shooting up Oakwood’s gym. The violent onslaught continued as the Oakwood faithful were forced to flee.
Snap out of it Marty, it’s a throwaway basketball game!
Oh, nevermeind. So Gil, ready to name your starting nine for spring?
It’s nice that Marjie and Mimi are comfortable hanging out in Mimi’s office, discussing Gil’s “boys” and the Thorps’ collective issues with digestive enzymes.* (Maybe Mimi is referring to the Thorp kids, who for continuity sake have been converted into lesions of the mucous membrane?) Well, who can tell what’s going on? Both teams are cramming multiple games into the last desperate days because so much precious time was devoted to angsty deliberations over the peacock.
Oh, and one more thing: Playdowns? Playdowns?! You gotta be HRONKing my FOOZLE!
*Sounds like a job for Gil’s proctologist!
Let’s play basketball, girls. Watch out for number 21. She’s mean and she’ll whipcrack you with her crazy ass ponytail. If she gets near you, use bilateral mental telepathy to anger her further and drive her foot back in time into a teammate’s crotch. Then, look for a rain shower or possibly a rogue swarm of insects to stagger into, elude another anger ponytail and heave away. Go ahead and heave away. There’s only one spectator. Now this is basketball. There’s nothing wrong with my thumb, even though i can’t straighten it out. I injured myself putting out a fire at my house. My husband set all his clipboards on fire and poured a box of homemade wine on the fire. He thought he was Red Adair.
The last-second shot goes in and the girls celebrate by revealing the widest variety of freak hands ever assembled in one comic strip panel. Crazy tiny finger, amazing meatfists and rubber wristed, high-fiving Stretch Armstrong forearms all in a blender panel including bad hair and broken noses. Panel 2 says Woo Hoo in a psychotic way.
What the fuck is panel 3? What the fuck is it? You have got to be shitting me! Really, you’re going with that? No, really? Okay, it is touching (in its awfulness). These two nitwits share in their delusions. I hope they keep them to themselves.
“Roar,” says Scott Fowler. “You score many points. You so awesome.”
“Yes, I feel special. Special like…a peacock!”
“Huh? That not really work in this context.”
“Look out, special Lady Mudlark. Furious Jeffersonite throw inner tube at you!”
This story is going to be huge. Player’s Dead Younger Brother’s Soul Inhabits Peacock, Inspiring Player and Girlfriend To Shoot Better, Coaches Set Each Other On Fire In Celebration
Alright! Lame midnight basketball at the Mfnrd Rec! Let’s practice the move where I bounce pass the ball right up into your face.
Enough about that, somebody call the fire department, the Thorps are so toasted on Two Buck Chuck that they don’t even notice the raging inferno in the living room. There’s something so soothing about bargain wine, his and hers tiny clipboards and vintage legwarmers that even the most dire emergency takes a back seat to relaxing time.
What about Shelby Hunter? Last we saw she was bulking up down at the endless potato bar at the Golden Corral.
“Blah blah 6 foot Shelby. Do you smell something burning?”
Here’s some coaching to tide you over for a while.
We’re not sure what happened over at GoComics today where these images are stolen from, but the Gil Thorp feed is stuck on 1/17. So the update will be delayed until they fix that. Oh yeah, we forgot to mention that the ol’ Nedster needs a break and will be away from the comic blogosphere for a spell so TWIM readers can contemplate this post for awhile. Keep feeding your hilariousness into the comments and blogging will resume sometime around 1/29.
Sitting and rehashing a high school basketball game over the tepid macchiatos the Java Jernt is known for sounds like the most unappealing thing two adult couples could do. Kelly is openly stifling a yawn.
Cut to Mia and her Boo, the centerpiece of the winter plot. Is Mia disturbed by Fowler’s strange assertions about the peacock? Has she been around for his grieving prior to the peacock sighting? This would probably inform her feelings about this latest development. It appears that their love doesn’t have much back story.
Wow! This dialogue is worthy of Hepburn and Tracy. (Yeah we love some ancient references here. What of it?) So witty and lighthearted, as if they weren’t talking about a dead little brother at all!
On second thought, maybe hanging at the coffee shop would have been preferable.
Merry Christmas from Kelly Krystek, Bob Kazinski, Mimi and Gil Thorp.
Put on a turtleneck, banish your kids, clamp on your hottie and celebrate Christmas the Gil Thorp way.