Look! It’s those freaks again! Ms Pinky (69.95, boys, giver a try), Screech-bot 3000 and either Rachel Maddow or Matthew Perry. Go Irish!
Uh oh Terry! Put a dollar in the douche jar!
“Pardon me, but I put the ball at the Milford 17. I’m Goatee Gary, the rockin’ referee.”
“But Gary, what I meant was that as a result of the penalty to The Douchening, the ball was put at the Milford 17.”
“Please don’t argue with Goatee Gary.”
Once again, we notice a severe lack of Gil Thorp. Remember him? He’s supposed to coach these simpletons. He’s the one that threw Terry into the mix based on his vicious streak. He must be saving it up for a classic smack down denouement. Until then, you know where to find him, sipping Dewar’s at the Airport Ramada.
Is that not the grimmest Marty Moon panel in quite some time? He looks like he’s flying some shitty old plane that he wants to smash into the desert.
“Speaking of hot dogging, Chip, I haven’t had access to your Oscar Meyer in days. Are we gonna sit around and chat about your Irish butt buddy all night? I might just have to go over there and see what all the fuss is about myself.”
“Oh cool, Cyndy. Hey could you ask him to lay off all the late hits and the dancing around and stuff?”
“I’ll make no promises. I don’t believe I’ll be able to get a word out, edgewise.”