This Week in Milford

January 22, 2019

We’re Telling You, Gil Thorp, We’re All Going Insane

Filed under: ?, Gil Thorp, Just plain sad, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 2:51 pm

012219

Early evening

April 4

Shot rings out in the Memphis skyyyyyyyy

Free at last

They took your life

They could not take

Your pride

 

Remember Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior on his birthday.

 

He rose above the hate to set us free.

 

 

 

Oooooooooookkkkkkkkkk, as long as we’re not going to play basketball for the time being (or maybe at all) , and the issues are getting a little weightier, I might as well address the issue before Gil goes Dr. Joyce Brothers on us.

If you or someone you know has suicidal thoughts, please get help IMMEDIATELY. Don’t let things fester or spin out of control. It is a brave thing to do to admit you need to get your life under control. ANYBODY saying he or she is going to end it all, even if he or she says it as a joke needs to be taken SERIOUSLY. Again, please get help and encourage others you know to get help if life just doesn’t seem to be working out.

This is a comedy site and I have every intention to keep it that way. For the moment, however, I felt it wise to talk about something that is ALWAYS a sensitive issue. Give yourself a chance, folks. These are your important years, you better make them last.

 

Gang, just when the interview, no matter how absurd it was, started getting warmed up like that El Nopal Valentine’s Day Chocolate Manwich Burrito you stick in the microwave after working overtime on 3rd shift, Thorpiverse took matters in its own hands and scheduled an unauthorized Public Service Announcement. Really, that’s what the damn strip is today, watered-down a bit by Filion’s smart-ass comment. Not that his point isn’t well-received.

“Coach, I’m going to end it all!!!!!!!!!!! I can’t take another 71-point shellacking. Any way we can use the gym to PRACTICE?????? I think Billy Bob’s had sufficient time in the gym to design his billboards. Isn’t there a church gym nearby where he can continue to ply his trade?”

 

All right, you whippersnappers, as I told Timbuys, the Sabbie in me is just bustin’ to get free, so you’re in for a treat, sung to Black Sabbath’s “Am I Going Insane(Radio)

 

Every coach is looking at me

Feeling quizzical inside

When I leave the gym, I’ll feel free

Think I’ll slip to The Bucket and hide

 

So tell me, Gilbert

Am I going insane (…aneeeeeeee)

Tell me, Coach Kaz

Am I going insaneeeeeee(…aneeeeeeee)

 

Really, I’m sure you’ve noticed, unless you’re Grog from the comic strip, “B.C.”, that we have leapfrogged from “Death to Gil-Viva la revolucion!!!!!!!!!!!” and its ensuing “Fidel!!!!!!!Fidel!!!!!!!!!!!!, a los Mudlarks dalos dure!!!!!!!!!! (“Hit the Mudlarks hard!!!!!!!!!!!”, if you’re too damn lazy to get your Fodor’s Spanish in Milford in 10 Days) to “The lunatic is in my head.” That’s right, Coach Thorp, you rearrange me ’til I’m sane. Should I practice 100 free throws/day instead of 50 free throws/day? Would that keep me from getting psyched out when the crowd is waving their arms? When they display a sign saying “You play for “Child Molester Thorp?”

We SHOULD be playing basketball but noooooooooooo, Gil’s gotta call everybody in the locker room, perhaps from their classes to make sure “Fairies Wear Boots” isn’t ringing in their heads or going to cause them to jump the dock at Mudlark Lake. Coach, I’ve been listening to Black Sabbath forever and I doubt that “Children of the Grave” is going to cause anybody to neglect to box out. You’re covering the bases on a football field. So Filion is having problems, no doubt, WHAT TEENAGER DOESN’T????” You’re transforming him from a carefree teenager to Franz Kafka in the name of plot interest. Kafka, miserable as he was, is happier than this sad state of Gilcare.  And I’d understand your concern a lot better if we’d get on with what this comic strip was intended to promote and that’s SPORTS. Ya know, S-P-O-R-T-S. Heck, play that instead of H-O-R-S-E but play the damn game. Yes, I understand your concern and taking Filion seriously is the right thing to do but you’re going beyond passing out Crisis Line leaflets and playing the doctor per se. Only thing missing now is the stethoscope. Oh, and a couch.

Okay, Herman Munster in P1 might need to get his head screwed on a little tighter but give him a hearty referral and let’s head back to the gym. We’re spending more time in the doctor’s office and the magazines like Better Homes & Gardens Bikini issue and The Saturday Evening Post (“Where do you think this plot is going-If you think the answers will be easy(but you won’t)…”) are collecting dust.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Winds Up At Milford General After Slitting His Throat!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Lost at Scrabble because he’d used up all his Q’s when spelling ‘loquacious.”

 

 

Shooting’s making me go schizo

My B-Ball game is heading south

Insanity won’t let me rebound

My mental health has just fouled out

 

So tell me Coach Shaw

Am I going insaneeeee(…anneeeeee)

Tell me Coach Boone

Am I going insaneeeee(…annneeeeee)

 

I mean, Coach Thorp, WAKE UP, we’re still in THE LOCKER ROOM!!!!!!! Don’t tell me you’re having an overnight slumber party there. I wouldn’t call it a lock-in if you catch my drift. Some player might interpret that nom de plume, not to mention your goodwill distribution of the Milford Crisis Line leaflets to mean that a couple of orderlies from the Milford State Hospital are waiting in the shower, assuming there was no game (more than likely NO) so nobody’s using Prell or strychnine on their scalp, to haul off a Mudlark or two in straitjackets in the paddy wagon. Nope, ixnay on lock-in and thumbs up on slumber party which it it pretty much is anyway, in more ways than one, at the rate we’re going.

Gil, I’m sure people should call 1-800-GIL-HELP should this plot get heavier than your hair when you aim the garden hose on it, but it really isn’t necessary to schedule an appointment with Dr. Freud who will analyze you for months, using Dream Therapy as one of the tools (“So this is what a basketball looks like-I always thought it resembled Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”) .

 

And to tie loose ends from my post the other day, I’ve been thinking (uh oh) . Marty, this isn’t 3rd shift at a distribution center, you’re not asking Bobbyhead if he can work overtime.

CAN YOU COME BACK TOMORROW???????

And what are we going to talk about THEN, assuming the psychoanalysis doesn’t today doesn’t overlap into tomorrow (Primal Scream Therapy should be done by then. Lennon said the album was a take.) ?????? Gil’s dental chart??????

Boobyhead in rare form on WDIG

“I told Gil after he’d bitten that Dutch Chocolate torte the wrong way, while I was cleaning the basketball jerseys, that he’d have to get his wisdom tooth extracted. Gil told me to F— off, spitting parts of his tooth on the towels I was getting out of the dryer. He told me to use my own Crest with Cavity-Fighting Peroxide. And use an Oral B toothbrush next time. It’s the toothbrush most coaches recommend.”

Sheesh, I could understand Marty prolonging the agony if the enfant terrible was a father unhappy with his son’s playing time or a booster who’s also a businessman who runs a nursery and threatens to shut down the Milford Annual Flower Show at the Milford Expo Center until they can Gil because 60 years on the job and not winning a State Championship at least 58 of those years (allowing for losing players to graduation or injuries) is inexcusable, given the talent and resources at hand. But an ex-equipment manager leading the charge on Gil’s firing is hardly Joan of Arc material. Let the man pay his dues in sports form a SPORTS angle (his own kid playing or a pet project who needs guidance (even better, Boobyhead will be that much taller down the road, trust me from personal experience)) , and THEN come back to Marty Shark. Then again, if Boobyhead grows up, he’ll avoid WDIG altogether.

Otherwise, I heard Otis the Drunk was starting a petition from his own jail cell. So far, a guy in for shoplifting Slim Jims at Milford 7-11 and a foreinger who chopped up an INS employee with a pick-axe have been his only signees.

 

Day 13

“Marty, I’m really not comfortable with this arrangement. Don’t get me wrong, Gil’s gotta go but talking to a naked man at 2:00AM in the morning  with a cougar howling 15 feet in back of us is not my idea of a great interview.”

“Relax. It’s only natural. Pretend like you’re talking to your dad after he wiped himself with a towel after he got out of the shower. You’ve seen him bend over when he uses Sani-Flush on the john, haven’t you? 8 years old. See? No problem. And Anonymous Calculus Dude is ready to pull the trigger any time. He goes on safaris semi-annually.”

“Where’s Peaches? Wasn’t she here just a minute ago?”

“She went the wrong way when she went to take a piss and got swallowed in quicksand. I’ll get the producer to pull her out after the 2nd Mudlar-K-Cola Misty Dew break.”

 

Oh, goodness, then there’s P3. When the 3rd panel is replete with teenage smartasses snickering at Filion’s comment even after Gil has been gracious enough to implement an estoppal on basketball to promote the Gil Line and keep the teenage male population from heading to the cliffs with the rest of the lemmings, becoming the crux of this farce and not the jump-off point to P1 the next day, I’m tempted to call the Gil Line myself and be his first customer. Boys will be boys but his time, they have every reasojn to be boys. To paraphrase Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar, Gil, stick to coaching from now on.

 

Anonymous Calculus Dude on the Gil Line

“Gil, you need to get a life.”

“I understand your hurt. How long has this mental anguish been giving you ulcers?”

 

If ya talk ta the head man at the Milford Bait Shop about yore bad marriage cuz ya cain’t afford a marriage counselor, ya might be a redneck.

 

Ooooooooooooookkkkkkkkkkk, since we really can’t get any basketball out of Gil for a while, my philosophy on life comes from Harry Truman who once said “If I make a bum decision, I just go out and make another one.” All righty then, Gil is pretending he’s Sigmund Freud, he has an elongated, cigar-shaped couch in his office, Filion is lying on it, Gil with his notepad

“Okay, Mike, in order to probe why you can’t play defense, we’re going to play Word Association. Just relax and when I give you a word or name, tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. Ready?”

“Anytime, Coach Freud.”

“Very well. Here we go.”

Pause

“Plot”

“Sucks”

“Coach Kaz”

Conan with girlie studs”

“”Basketball”

“Non-existent”

“Marty Moon”

“Anaconda with a goatee.”

“Rebound”

“What this plot won’t do”

“Assist”

“What you do with Mimi stirring Country Tyme”

“Peaches”

“Alice the maid who has sex.”

“WDIG”

“Paul Harvey meets Ida Tarbell”

“Backboard”

“In your driveway”

“Referee”

“Someone you bribe after every Goshen game.”

“Basket”

“Weaving”

“Ernie”

“A parrot is the guest star on ‘My Three Sons'”

“Dribble”

“Milford Men’s Clinic”

“Double dribble”

“Getting a refund at the same place”

 

“Well, Filion, I need to analyze your results which could take weeks. In the meantime, as part of Primal Scream Therapy, let ‘er rip one more time.”

MIMI SHOULD USE STORE BRAND ICING IN HER COCONUT BUNDT CAKE!!!!!!!!!!!

“There, all better? Now scram. I’ve got a crisis with Marty at 1:30.”

 

Gang, comment away. I have an appointment with Coach Freud in anb hour. Don’t want to get charged as a no-show.

 

“Peaches got gang-raped?????? In Milford Nature Area???????”

“Apparently, there’s more than one Bigfoot on the loose. No wonder why there were conflicting reports.”

 

Listen to me, all you readers

Pray the ball will bounce back soon

If I don’t sound very cheerful

It’s cuz I spilled my guts to Marty Moon

 

So tell me Gilbert

Am I going insannnneeeeeeeee(…annnneeeeeee)

 

Fading into a sudden eruption of laughter, Dr. Pearl and her staff trace it to Ms. Rizk’s room. The door is locked.

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH

AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

 

“Ms. Rizk, are you OK?”

“I’m good. Daffy just spilled ink all over the newspaper we were about to run. But I have a copy in my duffel bag in my car.”

3 Comments »

  1. Gil will prove Evil Billboard Boy wrong to the tank town media by saving Extremely Confused Kettlehead Boy from making a Very Bad Mistake.
    This I foresee.

    Comment by Prof. Anthrax — January 22, 2019 @ 9:46 pm

  2. Parent: Hey son, how’d school go today?

    Student: OK, I guess. Coach Thorp pointed out the poster for Spring Prom to us and then he had us commit the number for the suicide hotline to memory. Oh, and also to program it into our phones.

    Parent: …

    Comment by timbuys — January 23, 2019 @ 8:51 am

  3. Anthrax and Timbuys, thank you for your contributions. You both hit the nail on the head concerning this particular post. Gil should stick to coaching as he did in the Berrill days and leave Rent-A-Shrink to Marcus Welby, M.D.

    Teenchy, thank you for your contribution on this post and how it got lost in No Man’s Land is beyond my comprehension. I apologize that it didn’t make itself manifest. Your incisive humor ALWAYS strikes the right chord with me and is ALWAYS welcome. You da Man.

    Timbuys, I think you had another comment as well but also got lost. Did it return to Mars with Bugs Bunny’s Martian? Wouldn’t be surprised.

    You all keep Free Speech going with your comments, funny as they are. And they ARE funny. Sweetness.

    Comment by tdrewhardin — January 30, 2019 @ 4:49 pm


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