So, Knocker, Mimi and Gil are all heartless jerks, thinking about themselves first. Darby’s the one with the broken wrist who still has to deal with Jaxxxon, who probably ate his weight in Gummi Vits before Darby could get any medical attention at the FoodCo. Arthur Ashe and his buddy look on with barely contained contempt at Foley’s fist pump of selfishness. But before Knocko can get a cast punch in the jewels….

All rise, court is in session, the Honorable Gilbert T. Thorp presiding. Hey Coach, can we discuss sentencing guidelines first? Is locking Foley in EQUIPMENT SHED under a pile of MRSA infested wrestling mats allowable? You said, whatever we decide.

Are you guys gonna be long? I have to strip and wax the court tonight.
Give us a second, Steve. This shouldn’t take long.

Weren’t we promised some kind of mock trial? Is Knocker being allowed to execute another douche move (and possibly screw up another lawsuit for the FLG) before Gil issues his “swift” justice?

There should be a name for this type of strip in the Gil Thorp commentary vocabulary. The name would describe a strip that has been predicted with complete accuracy by the commentary community and thus, when it unfolds before us, exactly as telegraphed, it just seems pointless. How about “pointless strip”? Okay, admittedly, the strip does have a point and it’s point is to drive the narrative to it’s totally predictable next waypoint. Hopefully, when it gets there, we’ll see something more surprising, or random or otherwise unexpected (like an exploding peacock). Until then, we’re in the horse latitudes of freaky hands, shadow people and eyeballs a poppin’ (and nary a diamond, gridiron or court in sight). How do sequential artists do this? Coffee cup, floor tile, hopeful idiot, wash, rinse, repeat, coffee cup, floor tile, etc.

Since ol’ Ned is being reflective, let’s also check our anxiety about what the summer ahead holds. We’ve had what, three straight golf summer stories? Is a golf story inherently bad? Does the very nature of golf suck the wind out of something bizarre or wacky? Have the golf stories so far just been dull and repetitious (volunteer coaches, douche dads and Molly)? Will we ever get Kaz solving crimes again?

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.”

Jaxxxon gets loose? That kid is too big to sit in the shopping cart. Did Darby have him on a leash? Oh no! Look out for that irresponsibly stacked display of Gummi Vits!

Well, what did you think would happen, FoodCo? You stacked a bunch of colorful jars (trust me, I peaked at the color version) at chimp level, then you buffed the floor to a Steve Luhm sheen. How can you afford to keep your doors open? Given this high risk situation, there’s probably an opportunistic slip & fall attorney standing nearby with cell phone at the ready to record this whole fiasco.

Our astute commenters were already onto this latest twist: Bring on the junior douche of the Foley Law Group to offer injured Darby Kiser some unsolicited legal advice and then transition awkwardly into another request for an invitation to her pants.

Alright Kaz, get out that bailiff outfit from your costume closet and I’ll get my air-conditioned robe. We’re gonna have us a little trial.
Bailiff outfit? What makes you think I have a bailiff outfit? And what do you mean air-conditioned robe?
What, you think I should go commando? Hanging judge?
Gil, what are you talking about?
I’m gonna settle the dispute between Johnny…
You mean Jimmy.
Yeah, Jimmy and Fartknocker. Approach the bench, Rusty. I’m like Roy Bean and Lance Ito and that guy jerkin’ it to Phoebe Cates in the bathroom.
Judge Reinhold?
Yeah, that guy.
Gil, that guy isn’t really a judge.
Whatever, are you gonna be the sexy bailiff or aren’t you?
Wait, I’m a sexy bailiff now? Gil, what exactly are we going to decide in this “trial”?
I dunno. Whatever dispute is going on between those two knuckleheads.
Gil, there’s some kind of real lawsuit involved here. I don’t think your jurisdiction extends to awarding monetary judgements in a premises liability case.
Wow, that sounded all official and lawyery! Maybe you should be the judge and I’ll be the sexy bailiff! Here come de judge! Here come de judge!
Gil, how much propane did you inhale from that grill?
You’re out of order!

Meanwhile….
Here comes Jaxon! He’s a Bozo, a hairless bonobo, creating havoc at the A&P, flinging poo like a chimpanzee. He’s Jaxon! A bastard in jorts, his mom’s into sports…He’s Jaaaaxxxxon!

Jaxxxon! Get away from that lobster tank!