This Week in Milford

February 18, 2021

Don’t Bogart This Plot, Thorpiverse.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 1:41 pm

Any of you who saw the movie “Easy Rider” surely remember songs like “Born to be Wild” by Steppenwolf (yes, named after Hesse’s novel) and “I Wasn’t Born to Follow” by The Byrds. Thrown in the mix was a clanky tune which was about as Honky-Tonk and cheap and trashy and gaudy as all get out called “Don’t Bogart That Joint”. And naturally, people wondered what in the name of Maureen at The Diner did it mean. Well, yours truly is like his dad, he didn’t like getting left hanging with this one so he checked a dictionary online and the definition was somewhat inconclusive, given the nature of the word and the ensuing possiblities; still, what the dictionary site eventually proffered made sense so I’m going with my gut.

Anybody who has watched Humphrey Bogart movies, such as “Casablanca” has seen him frequently with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth (precursor, perhaps, to Jimmy Dean years later in the same pose) , essentially oblivious to the surroundings. Cool people evidently had that air. And that’s the idea. Still, cool or no cool, don’t sit there with a toke in your mouth, indifferent to the people in the same room with you. Your buddies might want to take a drag from your stick OR get one out of your satchel to smoke on their own. Wake up and smell and the pot.

And Thorpiverse, dammit, quit Bogarting this plot and the ramifications thereof. You don’t NOTICE the restless natives who are complaining and caterwauling over the lack of direction of ANY of these scenarios????? We had Peppermint Patty up Tessi’s butt over her flightiness. Then Tessi got her head out of her butt, finally, and got Vic, who kissed Gil’s ring because Don Corleone was out of town to get the PA announcer’s job, to do his Sha Na Na routine at your games. But wait, there’s more. When Doug wasn’t kissing Vic’s butt (but I don’t know how many times butt is going to be the butt of all the humor in this post, sorry to butt in) to bring Milford Boys Basketball in the limelight, he was kissing Joe Friday’s butt to avoid a ticket and running laps. It almost worked. And no sooner does Joe Friday pull up his trousers than we have another change of direction. Like what’s going to happen, Muench is going over to PP’s house for some brownies and bandages and they fall in love when she’s taping up his ankle (you didn’t expect Rick Scott to do it, did you? He’s like Coach Shaw, a rental at the Milford U-Haul) ? And that might seem impossible, given all the bogarting, but we thought Doug was going to get a ticket the second time he got pulled over. And we thought Gil was going to be in the gym when Tom and Doug served their punishments. What happens when you have great expectations. We’ll just bogart here on the couch until something realistic comes along.

I am intrigued by dog food that can be delivered at your doorstep

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. To Challenge Uber In Milford Small Claims Court Over Disagreement On Delivery Of Product!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I have enough issues with Milford Gaming Commission, but someone’s crossing a line when Uber leaves the Alpo in my parking lot when there’s snow on the ground.”

And further bogarting is evident in P1 as Thorpiverse nonchalantly assumes we dig the Synchronized Strobe Light Dancing Exhibit, like that’s going to spice up all the doodling that’s going on in the gym, streets of Milford, Corinavirus’ house, Corinavirus’ oven, Corinavirus’ outhouse, the faculty lounge at Milford High School, the faculty lounge water closet where Gil’s dumping his protein shakes, etc. Oh, this is entertaining, T-verse, watching 2 guys glow in the dark who should have been at practice ON TIME and would have been if Doug had told Joe Friday I HAVE PRACTICE AND DON’T HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT THE MILFORD MODIFIED DRAG RACE OR THE FACT THAT BILL GANNON’S WIFE HAS SEASON TICKETS THERE. Such mystique. I never knew 2 teenagers could dance to Alice Cooper’s “Welcome to my Nightmare” and they certainly have radioactive gym shorts appropriate for the occasion. Only Gil bleeds.

And speaking of Gil, WHERE THE HELL IS HE???? He just metes out punishment and disappears with Elvis and the rest of the UFO until Muench is begging for mercy in P3? Turn this saucer around, Elvis, someone pulled a hamstring. Plus I like to watch Alice’s demons and spiders fawning all over my players when they’re doing wind sprints.

The spray paint on those uniform numbers should dry anytime now. Then they can Strobe Light Boogie some more.

5:43PM-We were on stakeout in front of the gym with not a shred of evidence to work up a case. And I could sense the frustration in Gannon’s demeanor. He was getting bogarted on a useless chase and the Milford Police staff were too busy playing Yahtzee to care. He was on his 7th piece of Wrigley’s.

I was bored trying to figure out the Sudoku puzzle in the Milford Enquirer. I had used too many 9’s and I wasn’t about to ask Gannon if he had any 3’s or 5’s from his Sudoku ledger. This whole rigamarole smelled of bad math. We needed the Gaussian Elimination System and we needed it PDQ if we wanted to crack this renegade crossword.

We caught a break and none too soon.

Rick Scott walked out of the gym with his medical bag and tongs. He was on the way to pulling Dr. Pearl’s mother’s wisdom tooth

“Dr. Scott?”

“Rick to you.”

“Police officers. My name’s Friday and this is my partner, Bill Gannon. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Certainly. Dr. Pearl gave her mom some Sominex so she should be asleep for at least 14 hours. What do yo need?”

“We have a suspect who flies all over Milford in his armored tank and we traced his whereabouts from Da Nang where he received a Purple Heart for smoking the Viet Cong in a couple of sieges to here in this gym.”

“I think you mean Doug Guthrie and he wouldn’t harm a fly. He may show up at games and practices at his leisure but you’ll have to confront Coach Thorp on that one.”

“What about his cohort?”

“What about him?”

“Any criminal records? Any suspensions? Did he have to turn in his uniform?”

“Thomas Muench? A coach’s dream. Not one to say to Coach Thorp take this plot and shove it although I wouldn’t blame him if he did. But he’s an All-American kid.”

“Fair enough. What are YOU doing here so late?”

“Same reason I have anywhere I go. When someone hurts themselves, I come out of the casket that Barnabas rents at Collinsport and attend to my duties as a trainer. Muench injured his ankle and Willie Loomis wakened me from my slumber. I had to put a Band-aid on it and kiss it. That’s what trainers do.”

“Awwwwwwwright, I get the point. Just stay clean in your coffin and we won’t be in the interrogation room with Barnabas. We’ll be in touch later.”

“Good night, Dr. Scott.”

“Rick to you, Gannon.”

“Bill to you, Rick.”

OH GOD NO Thorpiverse. This is bogarting at its worst. Like anybody is too dumb too see that when you run laps around a skating rink, you’re going to slip and fall on your ass. Yeah buddy, Muench is in obvious pain because Doug left his Junior Johnson trademark crescent wrench on the floor and Muench subsequently turned an ankle. Pick up your tools after the free throw shooting drill, Doug.

Luhm had to have sandblasted the floor with Turtle Wax and buffered it later with the Milford Public Works Department city sweeper. If Milford Mudlarks have a curling team, they won’t have to call Luhm in to do any maintenance once the Boys Basketball team is done with their game. And don’t try to pull a fast one on us, T-verse. We know Lake Placid when we see it. Doug and Tom have been running circles around the U.S. Hockey team for a couple of hours. If Tom got speared by one of the forwards, no wonder why Tom is in such agony. Oh, well, Marcell Irby is still available as a goalie.

“Special Delivery. Where do you want me to unload this Ken-L Ration, Dr. Pearl?”

“Over there by the file cabinet, if you will.”

“No problem. And I’ll get that pallet jack fixed so it don’t squeak.”

To paraphrase Casey Stengal, can anyone around here draw shoes?????? We have the worst rendition of footwear the last few days in quite some time. Don’t stick an Odor Eater pad in one of them babies, since Odor Eaters basically fit the contour of the shoe. You can’t fit them when the shoes are attached to the rest of the feet and will grow on the general anatomy over a period of time. You need a water sprinkler, not Dr. Scholl.

And trust me, I couldn’t draw flies when it comes to artwork. My niece and my younger brother are the artists in the family. That said, I could draw a trapezoid on a piece of paper and try to eventually get it to look like a gigantic sneaker for the Jolly Green Giant better than these latest sorry displays of Nike’s, Converses, adidas’s etc. Doug is wearing the same 2 × 4′ s that my mom used when building for Habitat. No wonder why Tom twisted his ankle. When you wear plywood on your feet and you step on a basketball that Coach Thorp forgot to put back on the rack, anything can happen. At least, that’s what Coach Thorp teaches his players when he’s finally in the gym.

Oooooookkkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back to restore law and order. Take ‘er away, Gene

“Dumb Dora was soooooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought Gil was going to return to the gym to teach about _____________________________”

Thank you for clearing up the injury report, Rick Scott. You had me worried that there were ankle sprains out there that truly have artistic value. I reckon it’s all in the eyes of the art connoisseur when he or she is evaluating shin splints. I know saw can get ugly but some surgeons can paint the Mona Lisa when undergoing arthroscopic surgery. As a coach, I have never liked “Good loss”. No loss is good, the way I always saw it. Just watch Muench go under the knife when he is getting ligaments repaired and I think you’ll catch the drift.

And isn’t it nice to see Coach Thorp decide it’s time to BE at a practice if he’s going to call one but Coach, I hate to break it to you, coaching is more than admiring Henri Matisse when his Impressionist paintings capture the essence of Muench cussing black and blue when he’s torn his ACL. You might want to go back out to the gym and see if everybody’s in line properly for the lay-up drill. A shooter with no one there to retrieve the ball and you have more than slick floors and misplace tool boxes to worry about. But you run practice how you see fit. It’s your game. You just gotta show up for it first.

“Are you Mimi Thorp?”

” Yes, I am.”

“I need you to sign on the dotted line saying you received this package through UPS.”

“Fine. Just have the forklift driver drop the Kibbles ‘n’ Bits by the back door.”

6:13PM-We received another anonymous tip that Maureen down at The Diner had inside info on this Doug Guthrie. We wasted no time driving there, relieved that the Milford Fire Department had the flames under control. The Meat Loaf Burgoo sometimes created 3-alarm fires.

We sat down at a table that hadn’t been charred. Gannon ordered Chicken Flambe and Beanie Weenies and I ordered Fried Chili Steak and a plateful of onion rings. Apparently Milford Diner had a handshake agreement with The Varsity in Atlanta. As long as they were dealing only with frozen patties in the parking lot, it looked on the up and up to me.

“So what do you know about Doug Guthrie?”

“How should I know???? Do I look like his mother????”

“Look, sister, Frank Drebin might shell out millions for the skinny on the situation, but I ain’t a bank. I’d nail you on a Milford Police Statute Article 74 Section 23 “Unlawful Distribution of Provender and Imbibements at a Culinary Establishment” after your Bar-B-Q sandwiches flared up because you left the Wonder Bread in the Dutch oven too long but you still haven’t poured my coffee.”

“Ma’am, Mr. Friday is only trying to get to the bottom of this terrorizing of the city. If we can put this Panzer unit out of commission, we can all eat our lentil soup in peace.”

“I understand. Doug comes here a lot because his dad won’t let him park his tank in the driveway when he comes home from school. He orders a ton of lasagna. It’s real energy food for him. Says the farts on the inside of the tank sometimes causes his eyes to water but we sometimes let him use the Lysol when the janitor calls in sick. And he just LOVES to take that thing for a ride. Says if his dad won’t let him come home with the proper merchandise, then the rest of the town will pay. That’s why he speeds down streets, roads, and alleys. He once did an Evel Knievel jump over a line of tackling dummies and bragged about it here over the Tortellini and Peach Cobbler Special.”

“Ma’am, any word on what his father is like? His occupation?”

“He works in cooperation with the Milford Police Department but I have no idea what his exact title is. I never asked the police chief because he was busy. And we burned his pancakes.”

“No trouble, Ma’am. Joe, you ready?”

“Yeah, one more thing before we hit the road.”

“What’s that?”

“Next time you grill pancakes, don’t set the oven to 500 degrees.”

Obligatory somber music sets in as Joe Friday and Bill Gannon leave and take their doggie bags.

Today’s Black History Month entry is Madam C.J. Walker, nee Sarah Breedlove. She was orphaned at the age of seven and lived with her sister. She was abused by her sister’s husband so she managed to find a place to stay and grow up, eventually hooking up with a colleague who showed Walker the ropes on how to sell, in particular, hair care products. Walker’s own mother died of cholera, as sanitation and good nutrition among blacks were poor. From that, Walker learned the insides of the cosmetics industry along with marketing hair care and moved to St. Louis where she refined her craft. After observing other successful people with her keen eye, she had become so successful herself that she decided to move her operations to Indianapolis where a bigger warehouse awaited. She ran a first-class establishment, expecting her sales force to all wear a standard white blouse and black skirt and setting sales targets high, many of which were met. She had found that demand for cosmetics and hair care, when dealt with a shrewd sense of business, could shoot through the roof. Many times it did.

She went on to oversee classes to help train her sales force to budget money, keep accurate records, maintain a quality home life, and maintain a proper image. She became the first millionaire and used her well-earned wealth to build a mansion in Irvington, New York. The structure was part home and part meeting place for people to come together to talk business. Further success arose many times from these fellowships.

She was a philanthropist extraordinaire, donating money to several charities, particularly ones that would help blacks on their feet. She was heavily involved with the NAACP as she felt that blacks needed to organize if they were to move forward. Her mansion is a National Historic Site and also designated as a National Treasure. Please join me in saluting a woman who showed the world that she could overcome prejudice and succeed in business through hard work and determination and never listen to the naysayers along the way.

“And we’ll be back to see if Joe Friday’s stakeout at the Thorp residence leads to a successful bust this time after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”

“Boy, our latest partnership with Milford Nutr-Well Center has been going great guns!!!!! Customers are losing 50 pounds and savoring the Riunite Lambrusco dell’Emilia d’Italia on their way to waistline freedom. And I’ll bet that’s Italy they’re talking about but I don’t speak Italian even though I bet the bottle isn’t from North Korea. Who said our Free Yourself From Fifty Pounds And Find Free Frothy Suds In The Financial Future wasn’t going to succeed? Where are these people now when I see customers in Aisle 2 buying Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion Potato Chips, Ernesto’s Queso Dip, and bottles of Kilbrin Irish Whiskey who have gone down two pant sizes? Victory has a way of making the loudmouths shut up.

But enough of weight loss and Jack Daniels coupons. Hi, this is Coach Thorp speaking on behalf of Milford Beverage Warehouse and when I found out The Bucket got nailed once again for ethics violations by the Milford Economic and Trade Consortium, me and The Warehouse owner just shook our heads. They should know better than to fool the public by shipping illegal crates of llama meat from Uruguay and tell everybody that that’s a Bucket Burger when the public is receiving its order in the drive-thru. Yeah, right, and I’ll bet those Bucket Fries didn’t come from tortilla cakes they mash in the dirt on the streets of Tegucigalpa. I wonder.

Let us get one thing straight. All our booze is ethically outsourced or we refuse to stock the merchandise on the shelf, let alone sell it. When we unload that El Padrino de mi Tierra Whiskey off the truck, rest assured that the agave that flavors and makes it 100% pure satisfaction was not inserted in a factory in Bhutan. Let The Bucket stick that Bucket Fry in their pipe and smoke it. And at $28.99 a bottle, ethics never tasted finer.

And I about puked when me and the owner found out that Bucket Buffalo Chicken was processed from sweat shops off the coast of The Philippines. How they found the buffaloes or chickens in South Asia, let alone sent it Air Mail to The Bucket is a question they never ask on The $64,000 Pyramid. But that will never happen here at The Warehouse. We don’t buy Diet Pork Rinds from Seychelles or Lay’s Salt and Peppered Reduced Fat Low Sodium Potato Chips from the slums of Botswana. And when you buy your 12-Pak of Coors Hard Seltzer at a scintillating $15.99, be comforted knowing that we dealt with the duties agent before the revolution raged out of control in Peru. We never deal with despots when negotiating The Good Life.

And we are sick and tired of The Bucket mega-bogarting the situation in Bulgaria. We know they need hot dog buns at loss leader prices but hearing unconfirmed reports of torture just so The Bucket can make their Bucket Chili Franks just turns my stomach. Let me make this perfectly clear, you will get your Lloyd Chardonnay Carneros 1933 Sonoma County imported from Iran without The Imam nationalizing the vineyards at a ridiculous $43.19 or your money back.

That’s right, we have our ethical ducks in a row, unlike another certain eating establishment that is desperately grasping at straws attempting to get a liquor license. They think buying Bucket Burgers from the islands of Denmark and selling Ronald McDonald’s sex life to the world without the sexual molestation charges is fair trade. Would you buy from a gun owner if he was shooting at your leg? Come on down and get ethics and booze all in one shopping bag and use your Beverage Visa Gold to pay for it all and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.

Oh, come on, Gang, now you know better than that. That isn’t The Rolling Stones doing “Emotional Rescue” in P1. Where’s Mick Jagger? Or Bill Wyman? Rest my case.

God bless you, Gang. You are the world to me.

“Don’t Bogart that joint, my friend, send some over to meeeeeeeeeeee-“

GIL, WE HAVE PRACTICE!!!!!!!!!!!!

At Milford Diner

“Joe, I see a strange man driving down the street. Wonder where he’s going?”

“Oh, that’s Coach Thorp. I guess he finally decided to get his butt to practice. Pass me the salt. This baked salmon is a little dry.”

To be continued

6 Comments »

  1. Agree, Tdrew…this mish-mosh of plots is also movin’ along as fast as the Rex Morgan (Buck’s diabetes) story is but at least with that one, it’s one story and not the four or five goin’ on here. Might as well bring in the janitor too and have PP fall in love with him after he shows her how to work through a double screen and improve her D-fence. PP don’t care if he’s 40 and that it would be creepy to be interested in him…that’s right up her alley. HS boys bore her.

    Comment by franku2016 — February 18, 2021 @ 2:16 pm

  2. @frank – Hey, I already have had one high school girl hitting on me just to get back at her boyfriend, it almost ruined my life! Let her go after Kaz, he’s not doing anything this season anyway.

    Comment by MopMan — February 18, 2021 @ 2:51 pm

  3. Tdrew I love the Dont Bogart that Joint song. Born to Be Wild was a great tune until classic rock radio ruined by over playing it. As happens with so many tunes in my opinion.

    Comment by Jive Turkey — February 18, 2021 @ 3:55 pm

  4. I recall an a capella version of “Don’t Bogart That Joint” done by Little Feat on their live album “Waiting for Columbus”, a great album heard endlessly at summer barbecues back in the day….

    Comment by Moon Mullins — February 18, 2021 @ 4:52 pm

  5. Bill to you Rick
    I would never give you a bill in my restaurant!

    Comment by Downpuppy (I, me, mine) (@Downpuppy) — February 18, 2021 @ 5:37 pm

  6. Excellent commentary, Gang. You picked up where you left off. Your input added mightily to the task at hand.

    Jive Turkey and Moon Mullins, thank you for your contributions on that song. It was a very overlooked piece and one that certainly deserves its day in court. Your comments egged that notion on. And Moon, My Man, thank you VERY MUCH on bringing up Little Feat. I had seen them around but never really checked them out but I WILL NOW. I love what I hear. You have any more tips, bring ’em on.

    God bless you all. You keep Democracy alive and well.

    Comment by tdrewhardin — February 20, 2021 @ 4:45 pm


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