11/21/13
11/22/13
11/23/13
11/25/13
11/26/13
Quick questions before I hand off blogging to a plethora of volunteers:
When was the last time Gil was sober enough that we could actually see his pupils?
Ricozzi’s? This is what happens when you veer from celebrating at the Bucket!
And finally, a car rollover, eh…? Well once that happens, this is bound to happen, right?
Sorry folks, despite my best efforts to kill this blog through negligence and inattention, I think there’s many folks who want to keep it alive. In a blink of an eye a month passed since my last post calling for replacement bloggers. A number of folks volunteered their efforts through e-mail or the comments section, so here’s what I’ve done: I’ve emailed out a chatroom link to all interested parties (no registration required) where we can hash out the details of who wants to post when (perhaps a different person each day of the week?) Once the details are confirmed I can then give blog access to all of you fine volunteers.
If you are interested in joining this chat, but didn’t receive a link from me, let Marty Moon know, I’ll send ya an email with the link. I promise we’ll get this ironed out within the next week before I go all Mr. Bakst on ya.
In the meantime, here’s whatever crap that is going on in the latest comic. Comment awayyyyyyy!
Hi all, I crawled out of deep-freeze for two reasons:
First I want to commend and deeply thank Ned for his years of faithful blogging here, first as a part-time substitute whenever I needed to check into Oakwood Rehab for a bit, then taking over completely when I decided to make a life change…(becoming a Tarzana-head and following Gail Martin around on her worldwide tour, but that’s a story for another day.) Kudos to Ned, for doing what so few can do…snark continuously about the utter nonsense in Milford.
Second, I wanted to throw out the offer: is any reader out there brave enough to want to take the reins* of this blog? Just like Lassie, Dr. Who, or Alex Trebek, whenever the current version drops dead, an upgraded replacement can easily step in to keep the show going. When I started this thing on a whim over seven years ago (yikes!), I guess I never imagined it would go this long, but it would be sad to watch it disappear completely. So if you think you have what it takes, send Marty Moon an email and he’ll screen out the totally drunken requests from the mentally deranged ones.
Just be warned that if you blog about this comic, eventually your head will explode too:
…in the meantime, you can prepare yourself for all the glory, fame, mountains of cash, and sex appeal that you’ll inevitably gain from authoring this masterpiece of the internet. I hope to hear from interested lunatics soon.
Jason
*Yes, blogs have reins.
As crack* field reporter Ned Ryerson recently reported, the Seattle Post Intelligencer (official motto: “We’re intelligencer than you!”) has a color monkey decorating our glorious episodes of the Thorpster. Today, I’m running those fine color versions…the down side is that these are smaller size than the ol’ black and white ones. Be sure to vote at the bottom of today’s post to let me know which fancy-pants version you prefer!
8/6/12
“Hope it’s okay that Steve is using the driving range.”
“For a wounded vet, no problem. If he was an unwounded vet, or just some armless dude, I’d tell him to go to hell.”
SHANK!
“And since he’s not hitting any balls on the course anyway, what do I care? As long as there’s no foozling going on out there.”
8/7/12
Do you think Molly’s sexy advance of removing her (cardboard?) underwear in panel one makes up in any way for her insensitive second panel question? Everyone who knows Steve is aware that he lost the arm in that wacky but tragic lima bean cafeteria food fight at Fort Benning.
8/8/12
To blur the lines of reality, Gil steps away from Milford to bring in real-life Michigan golf pro John Jawor. He’s an expert at bringing out the best golf sound effects in his students. Steve will progress from FLUB! and SHANK! all the way to MIGHTY-ONE-ARMED-BALL-SMACK! in just a few short lessons.
*On crack.
7/30/12
“As long as you’re flailing away like a one-armed guy at an angry golf-club-swinging contest, why not coach all these damned junior golfers for me?”
“Golf sucks. I’d need no arms to enjoy playing this sport.”
“That can be arranged. My old Crimean War buddy played with no arms. And I managed to him into teaching this class from ’34 through ’36.”
7/31/12
Ooh look, it the annual “Unnecessary Point at the Reader” panel of the summer. Which is YOUR favorite… 2010, 2011 or this masterpiece of pointing mockery?
8/1/12
Why would you want to fix being Scruffy? Being Scruffy is awesome.
8/2/12
“Now that you shaved that goddamn beard, people will stop confusing you for that awful Steve Luhm.”
“Yeah, people kept punching me in the head when they thought I was that guy.”
7/23/12
“Sorry, coach, that one-armed hockey player story only uplifted me 25%.”
“OK then, how about a guy with no arms or legs who threw out the first pitch?”
“That works. As long as he doesn’t give me four cufflinks when he’s done with me.”
7/24/12
“I don’t want to interrupt my brother, what with all these arms I’m using. Can you go flirt with him please?”
“Sure, just give me his phone number and I’ll text some pics of me.”
7/25/12
Summer lovin’ happened so fast!
Summer lovin’ it sure kicks ass!
(Tell me more, tell me more)
(Like does he have a hand?)
(Tell me more, tell me more)
(Like what’s with that wristband?)
Summer lovin’ ends with a sob!
Now that Gil outsourced his job!
(Say no more, say no more)
(Gil’s a slacker again…)
(Say no more, say no more)
(Now let’s go find the gin!)
7/16/12
“I kind of lied, Coach. Steve isn’t doing so well.”
“Too bad, Kip. Which one is Steve? Is he the country-singing closeted gay illegal immigrant whose brother is in prison?”
Wow, uh…no. I was gonna say, he’s the one who’s all messed in the head, but you seem to have that one wrapped up. He was in the army and now has PTSD or something. He currently lives in the coat closet at my house.”
“Oh…STEVE. I gotcha. Well you give him a message for me, Chet.”
“My name is Noah.”
“Well, you tell Chet to come on down, I can set him up doing some free coaching for me. That seems to solve most of my problems. Or does he need me to give some self-righteous B.S. speech telling him why he sucks? Because that’s what I do if the free coaching thing doesn’t work.”
7/17/12
“Hey Steve! I need my poncho from in there. Oh, and Coach Thorp threatened to send some crazy f**king Marine to the house if you didn’t go coach for free for him. At first I thought he was referring to himself, but then I remembered he was a boxer in the army, not the Marines. Plus, I think he fought in the Spanish-American war. So you should get down there…mainly ’cause he’s batshit insane.”
7/18/12
Hey everyone, I hope you’re ready for another round of “Gil Thorp mocks an amputee!” What, you didn’t know that was a thing? It’s a thing. (Gil’s such a dick when he’s sober.)
Good thing for Steve’s fragile psyche, we know Gil must be hammered…it’s after 10 AM and he’s awake and stumbling around the driving range with untalented local midgets. That’s not sober Gil. Still, I’d say the over-under on how soon he has Steve doing his coaching job is about three days.
When nothing happens
for four days, it means one thing:
Haiku-o-rama!
7/9/12
The last time Coach Thorp
did any double-bagging,
no golf was involved.
7/10/12
One gaping plot hole:
There’s no way in hell that Gil
knows players’ last names.
Noah knows his way
around a dark gaping hole.
“Insert your balls here.”
7/11/12
When an old man asks:
“How’s your big , bulky brother?”
Run! Creeper alert.
Meanwhile, Noah has
dragged his balls out of the hole
and into the box.
7/12/12
What’s with this guy, Steve?
Grew a beard, moved to woods, where
Mark Trail punched his face.
Then Gil goes running,
with some underage blond chick
and Bill Clinton’s shorts.
This Week in Milford 