This Week in Milford

May 11, 2021

Even The Uniforms Aren’t Uniform.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:34 am

We are going this way and that and no better way to sum up the direction of this storyline et al than to refer to the yucky green and random color scheme on the Mudlark Outfielder the other day, unless Crockett allows its players to be on the field to admire their own tape jobs. Now we are back to loud red and smudgy black and that MTV logo on the back. And today Tilden stole those Lucky Charms-imbued threads just to keep the plot from falling off the cliff. I guess, Thorpiverse was afraid we were going to nod off to sleep. Any way to retain our attention, I reckon.

And like with trees, does anybody know how to draw cleats? Those are the same sneakers Medfield wore in the basketball games against Mighty Rutledge in the Flubber movies. Sha Na Na wore them as part of their act when they were at Woodstock. BTW, anybody who ever wondered how a ’50’s teeny-bop group wound up in front of a multitude of hippies in upstate New York on Max Yasgur’s farm, well, they had people like John Lennon to thank, who really loved their act. Many rockers from the ’60’s were nostalgic and wanted to keep the ’50’s sound going. Ten Years After, started by the venerable Alvin Lee, was called that because they formed in ’66, ten years after Elvis hit the Big Time. I think you can take it from there.

Anyway, Sha Na Na gets up on stage and the first thing someone from the group says as they are about to perform is “F— you, hippies, ’50’s Rock is here to stay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” And that’s pretty much what T-verse is telling us TWIM readers “F— you, TWIM, these ununiform uniforms are going to last until Christmas or forever, whichever comes first!!!!!!!!!!” As long as the players wear cleats, I don’t care if they show up in Bozo outfits. Well, let me rephrase that.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Turns Down Offer To Tour With Sha Na Na!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“There’s no way I’m wearin’ a lame jacket. I had to wear one at my trial. And I ain’t wearin’ sneakers Howard Twilley wore for the ’72 Dolphins. Hard to elude a defensive end in them damn things.”

And of course the script calls for our hero to make it interesting, no matter how many times he threw through the tire. They didn’t all go through the tire, no matter how many all-nighters he pulled. Nope, Lucky Charms Preparatory School a/k/a Tilden stole those Howard Twilleys and are making a game of it. Well, practice makes perfect so Zane bore down and didn’t throw his brain through the tire the way T-verse did. Shoot, T-verse threw those Twilleys through the tire the way the plot has developed. As long as it doesn’t look like Gil ate too many bowls of Lucky Charms this morning in terms of strategy, I think we’ll be fine. Eat some more Shredded Wheat, Coach, and keep your brain active even if you don’t always put it to good use. Being a smartass in the dugout with Kaz when Crockett went yard on Zane doesn’t count.

Just don’t try to throw through the Mudlark catcher’s butt as the one proudly displayed in P1. Man, Zane might be the next Roger Clemons if he pitches through that thang. I have always wondered where T-verse got its art references in relation to people’s gluteus maximi. Sometimes it runs the range from Dadaist art to Late French Romanticism. I guess in character with the Romantic Age, a lot of emotionalism has to be instilled into etching a human’s rear end. We wouldn’t want our readership to go to sleep as a result of Gil’s butt lacking any perspective. The idea of art as any form of the arts (e.g., music, literature) is to maintain the patron’s interest. Washington Crossing the Delaware with a butt that falls flat just won’t conquer Trenton. Pat yourrself on the back, T-verse, for the catcher’s butt in P1 trouncing the Hessians.

“F— you, Rock & Roll is here to stay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Kindly keep your voices down. We have classes in operation.”

“Sorry, Dr. Pearl.”

May 6, 2021

Will Somebody Play This Game Around Here?

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 12:02 pm

I mean, the ’62 Mets were awful but they PLAYED. No sooner than Katy Brito catching what was possibly served at the dinner table a few days ago on Mrs. Brito’s watch and Landry Carlson doing a Tom Terrific on us than we head back to the gossip corner with Elviney and Loweezey. Shoot, there were more trees than fans at the “game” I saw. Oh, sure, we have people intermingling with Mudlark players today but somebody from the art department who is skilled in drawing peons who were standing in line at the Milford Unemployment Agency could have slipped a 20 in each of their pockets to pose for a few minutes until the water colors dried off. Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. I hope you get that job at Burger King. I understand they upped the pay on burger line cooks to a dollar. Now just look like your congratulating her on hitting for the cycle. You don’t have to smile.

And was Zane really using Becca as a decoy until Butthead left to go apply for the job at The White House? Not that this is the first time Chef Boy-ar-Dee Hair has been a catalyst in the true sense of the word, i. e., a filler until the mud-slinging and sniveling tripe kick in. Does she sleep in Mimi’s office until practice/games? It would seem to me you need somewhere to lay your head until you have to wake up and grease the wheels. And Mimi has a fridge in case Becca wants to store anything cold.

And what could POSSIBLY been the topic of discussion? The ’62 Mets? Boy, conversations about Casey Stengal legging out his managerial career will get you a date, hands down. I’m confident they were engaged in a spirited discussion about whether Marv Throneberry would have made the Mudlark Baseball roster. Oh no, Becca, I’m not talking like this until Mr. Butthead leaves and drives down the cliff with the rest of the lemmings. I really want to know if Throneberry could hit Valley Conference pitching.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. In Shock!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ‘I Saw Elvis Last Night While I Was Walking My Dog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'”

sub headline

“He and Colonel Tom Parker were in that piggyback tree talking about a possible return concert in Hawaii.”

No, really how do we know that so-called teenage popping his head between Zane and Becca “The Gossipmonger Facilitator” Ramirez isn’t really a laid-off lathe operater at Milford Lumber Yards and he needed the easy money to pay the light bill at his duplex? Just talk about the Cubs and nobody will notice. Be careful talking about Lou Boudreau’s illustrious broadcasting career. You might blow your cover (Robmize is going to kill me, Robmize is going to kill me…) .

Or that gentleman to the left could have in actuality been a crane operator at Milford Scrap Iron, Inc. and there was no more GM cars to smash and the rebar pile had dried up and he has to enroll in retraining classes at the employment agency to learn a trade as a plumber in conjunction with Milford Pipefitters #37. Good thing his pants are pulled up or people might start getting suspicious. Bend over to pick up your Coke cup you dropped on the ground and Plumber’s Butt will arouse doubts whether you’re a true fan who’s taking his daughter home after a hard-fought victory or you’re just keeping your britches up just to appease the artist drawing these characters. Oh, there’s plenty of those so far, with or without Plumber’s Butt.

And will somebody tell the artist, while I’m on a roll, that maples do not ride shotgun on other maples (or whatever those trees are in P1) ? I have hiked parts of the Appalachian Trail (Harper’s Ferry hike is to die for) , The Knobstone Trail, longest trail in Indiana, River-to-River Trail in Illinois, Ozark Trail in Missouri, Santa Fe Trail in Oklahoma, Long Trail in Vermont, and millions of other trails in National and State Forests and I have yet to see an oak hunching a hackberry, a catalpa standing on the shoulders of walnuts or dogwoods growing out of Gil’s hair. You will NEVER see a ginkgo having to have the hose turned on it in relation to a loblolly pine as you would observe between two dogs. But I will consult that horticultural guide I checked out from the Milford Public Library just to be on the safe side.

If ya gotta use the garden hose on yore apple tree cuz it got stuck with peach tree and ya don’t wanna get accused of inbreeding as rampant as yore lineage, ya might be a redneck.

And we as the TWIM faithful were seeing light at the end of the table when Zane was broaching a sports-related subject but noooooooooo, we’re lowering ourselves to Last Picture Show status and all the trashy behavior thereof when Katy gives us a heads-up by the change of subject and you KNOW her subject really won’t be sports-related if we were left guessing because P3 got chewed up by the dog. I don’t think, if I was left at the edge of the cliff in P2, that Katy would be about to bitch that Coach Mimi was relegating her to long relief. That she was platooning with Becca because Becca brings more pop to the bat and to the gossip, whatever the situation calls for. Sometimes the hit-and-run at the gossip fence won’t produce the big inning. Yeah, don’t count on this continuing where Gil tells Mimi to bench Katy because he doesn’t care for Pat Benatar and doesn’t want to be reminded of “Hell is for Children” when Katy/Pat is in the on-deck circle.

No, we’re going down another General Hospital path and what adds insult to injury is the pajamas both Zane and Katy are wearing P2. If you have kids, these are threads they are wearing when you’re reading “Little Red Riding Hood” or “The Little Train That Could” at bedtime. These were the kids that were grown up now from The Cat in the Hat narratives. They should have left their PJ’s in the stories, if not at home.

Wherefore is your attire

Tho I admit I admire

To play the game you so desire

Rather than nocturnal fare so dire

Mr. Cat in the Hat, Esquire

This is our desired attire

And you should be fired

And gracefully retire

And stick to green eggs and ham.

Come check out Iroquois Gardens Apartments. I have been here two years now and have found them comfortable and affordable. It is a perfect atmosphere for writing this blog as I have easy access to many different restaurants and stores, plus there’s a park across the street from me. The showers run super, a lot of closet space, comfortable bedroom, plus the kitchen is out of this world. Because I cook a lot, I make great use of the microwave and stove and the refrigerator stores all my favorite frozen items and refrigerated foods. It gives me piece of mind knowing I can concentrate on the blog and not worry about annoying problems. If there are problems, particularly maintenance, they get addressed immediately. Take New Cut Road (Taylor Boulevard) south of I-264 in Louisville until you reach the stoplight at Park Road. You can’t miss them.

Support Small Business, Gang. You need to go where everybody knows your name.

I just love the size proportion in P2. Zane looks like he’s talking to some girl in Milford T-Ball League. We got it all today, Shawshank fences, trees with offspring (Credit to Mopman who came up with Comment of the Day-touche) , munchkins that play high school softball, girls who shovel the doo doo without getting the crud on their cleats, and non-existent coaches. But munchkins haven’t been around for 60 years. Nor crap-encrusted cleats.

I’m almost half-expecting Katy’s munchkin cohorts to exhort Zane to follow the Yellow Brick Road. That might as well be the answer as there really is no workable solution for Mr. Butthead running for Library Czar and purging the facilty of all the quilting magazines. I’d be dancing to see The Wizard with the Cowardly Lion and The Scarecrow too if I really didn’t know how to prevent the Library National Guard from throwing all the O. Henry’s in the incinerator.

Oooooooooookkkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back to make sure we stay between the lines if everybody else in P1 and beyond is fixing to step outside them and not just because the game ended as we have trangressed those boundaries even with the gane in progress. Not with Gene to crack the whip. Start crackin’, Gene

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought Butthead Brito was running for office on the Library Board because the library needed a ___________________________.”

To NO ONE’S surprise, Butthead is indeed going to run for a position on the Library Board. Why we had to interrupt the flow of sports for something we were seeing two miles down the road is a Rubik’s Cube I’m not EVEN going to put back together like Humpty Dumpty and as long as we’re going to ONCE AGAIN put sports back in the fridge next to that Waldorf salad that hasn’t been touched since Christmas and the meat loaf that’s raggedly wrapped and accumulating moisture as a result of the malfunctioning tap, can we at least make this sleazier than Butthead doesn’t like empty library space so he’s going to be Library Czar and order National Unused Reading Room Extermination Day? Are there any back issues of National Geographic still hiding behind Reader’s Digest, get ’em up against The Wall. And that Atlantic Monthly of Henry Winkler on the cover, that don’t look right to me, get it up against The Wall. And that Guideposts got mold and Pschylogy Today is for baboons, who let all this riff raff into the rooms, there’s a James Patterson out of print and a Clive Cussler with spots, if I had my wayyyyyyyy, I’d have library materials shot. Maeve Binchy’s are just another Brick in The Wall.

Pink Floyd aside, why can’t we REALLY ratchet up the sleaze and bring a Last Picture Show atmosphere to this farce. After all, the football coach in the movie, Coach Popper, was about as available as Gil has been for 60 years. What made it funnier was one of the deadbeats in the movie is having sex with Coach Popper’s wife. I mean, as long as sports is the Queen of England around here, why not have Zane dump Katy and get it on with Coach Mimi? Shoot, you see Gil anywhere?

And we don’t have to limit this to a one-pony show. When Butthead Czar goes to the Board Meeting to vote to eliminate the Salvodor Dali paintings because he could draw time pieces better than those bent specimens, Zane can do a quickie with Mrs. Brito. Heck, it would make up for all that organic cottage cheese she served at dinner last week and the mud-slinging and mud-induced scenery would be a vast improvement. Let’s quit crucifying sports and bringing in Leave it to Beaver when Falcon Crest just about sums up this tomfoolery anyway. Just saying.

“You think you’ll be in trouble? What if we get caught?”

“I think we’ll be fine, Coach Mimi.”

“I’m Coach Popper’s wife.”

“And we’ll be back to see if Coach Popper runs off with Mimi in a shotgun wedding after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”

“I hope my wife comes back to me. Naturally, I know it’s all acting. Movies are like pro wrestling, it’s all fake. I’m confident Jerry Lawler eats at the same table at The Bucket with The Moon Dogs as much I will not be sleeping alone tonight. I left the door unlocked anyway.

But I’m not here to talk about my personal affairs when Milford Beverage Warehouse is in another great promotional campaign guaranteed to raise the roof without raising the prices. Hi, this is Coach Thorp and aren’t you glad to hear that rare bit of good news.

Milford Beverage Warehouse and Milford Critter Concepts have teamed up to have you enjoy The Good Life without a giraffe munching on your petunias in your garden. And we’ll start you off right by offering you 25% off the bill when The Critter Man comes out and has to do more than spray Raid on your sugar maples. That’s right, with your purchase of Canadian Mist at a ridiculous $19.99 in the 1.75 bottle, Milford Critter Concepts will implement measures guaranteed to prevent further invasions of prairie dogs who chow down on your watermelon patch. Hey, and at a discount. Get piece of mind knowing the alarm system is scaring the prairie dogs off your property and in your neighbor’s yard. While sipping some Mist in the twilight of the evening on your chaise lounge on your patio deck. I can hear Brubeck crooning ‘Life’s so free and easy’ now.

But then I’ve heard reports of hippos scaring their pets and ransacking everything in their backyard and garage. Lot of huge browns spots in the grass, fer sure. Hey, don’t jump in with your elephant gun. Especially when Milford Critter Concepts is willing to knock 15% off the bill if you’ll purchase Old Forester Whiskey at an easily affordable $27.99 from The Warehouse. C’mon, Folks, let The Critter Man send that hippo back to Africa without you taking matters in your own hands. All you have to do is buy the bottle and let a man do what he’s got to do. They’ll find a home somewhere on the Congo River, you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

And there were reports in my neighborhood that ring-tailed lemurs were searching purses in people’s cars when they were inside watching Dallas. Man, I thought they all lived in Madagascar. Shows you my knowlodge of zoology. Thank God, Milford Beverage comes to the rescue to bail you out when that critter is swimming back to Madagascar with your wife’s lipstick case. For a purchase of Miller High Life in the 30-Pak, 12-Oz. cans, Milford Critter Concepts will knock off 23% of your bill. And even better, The Warehouse will cut 2$ if you make your purchase by the end of the month. Man, protecting your cigar box on the dashboard from monkeys that look like raccoons and having until the Indianapolis 500 to get TWO DISCOUNTS???? Makes me hope they go through my wife’s lingerie.

Hey, there’s more where that came from. Come in and get your booze and get those hippos out of Dodge, only at Milford Beverage Warehouse, and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.

Gang, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. My dad called with a last-minute trip and I wasn’t able to use my phone. Then when I returned, I was wiped out. I can only make it up to you by finishing the blog. The Show went on. That’s what I think you want and expect. And you’d be right. God bless you, Gang.

Heard at Milford Lounge

“No, really, I saw Elvis in that piggyback maple. I thought I had been drinking but knew he liked fried bologna sandwiches and The Bucket delivery sent him a bag.”

Coach Mimi at softball practice

“I need you to expand your role, Becca. The team needs you down the stretch.”

“But I’m already gossip facilitator.”

“But we need a third-string catcher now.”

May 4, 2021

We Can’t Go For This, No Can Do.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:30 am

Easy, stupid, wimpy, all the time

Where does this stop

Where do you dare us to draw the line

You got us crying

Now you’ve warped the show

Don’t even do a sequel

Say, no go

Yeah, we’ll stomach anything

That this plot can do

Yeah, almost anything

That this crap can do

But we can’t go for this


No can do

We can’t go for this


No can do

We can’t go for Gil

No can do

Can’t go for Gil

Can’t go for Gil


Gil, you walked into this one. You made it effortless for Hall & Oates to jump on the scene and burst this already-flaming zeppelin. I merely had to write the lyrics and that was a piece of cake. Geez, getting a paycheck never got easier. Keep that Mack-truck-wide avenue open, Coach. My sense of humor never got sharper than today’s easy pickin’s. And that’s before I write about your hand that evidently got caught in Luhm’s weed eater. Be a little more discreet when doing signals with the batter. You can flash the bunt sign without without getting crucified by the weed hacker or a farmer’s scythe.

Dean Smith was the longtime successful coach for North Carolina Tar Heels Men’s Basketball. He was so well thought-of by his players that once during a losing streak, the fans were burning Coach Smith in effigy. When the team bus pulled up in front of the fans after returning from a road trip, Billy “Kangaroo Kid” Cunningham, one of his players and later a coach for the ’83 NBA Champion Philadelphia 76ers, marched out of the bus and promptly tore the effigy down. The fans got the message.

Coach Smith was demanding but fair. His practices were strenuous but definitely accomplished something. Players kept seeing the point and kept coming back. Opting out was not in the Tar Heel vocabulary. He was successful for many reasons, one of them was that he refused to let players room with the same guy for more than one semester or cliques were going to form. Yup, Michael Jordan roomed with the 3rd-string center one semester, James Worthy the next semester, the 2nd-string point guard another semester, Sam Perkins another semester, etc.

But another reason was that he understood player burnout. Enthusiasm for basketball in December at fever pitch thinned out to dreading to brave the cold to get to the gym in February and nobody was more aware of that than Coach Smith. So there were times he would have guys at the gym and would simply tell the players “No practice”. Players who had core classes to think about really appreciated the gesture plus it gave injured players a chance to heal. Schools like North Carolina State or Wake Forest or next random ACC opponent was dead meat, since rested-up players were fired-up players and those Tar Heels played with a vengeance.

So when I saw Coach Thorp and his Amazing Technicolor Claw telling the guys “No practice”, I appreciate the gesture but we’ve only see one game from him which is really not exactly a tax on the players’ well-being. Oh, but let’s play along with the Iron Claw and assume that the players have been chewing on the infield dirt so the point of getting the tailgate down when fielding ground balls gets driven home or that runners have been crawling base to base to teach the players that 1) You have to crawl before you run, especially when reaching home plate-hey, The Babe was on all 4’s like Mr. Ed in practice when doing his home run trot especially the Called Shot in the ’32 Series 2) Slide or the umpire will call you out to learn to follow the rules and you don’t get sensory-deprived for not listening to Coach Claw. And swinging with wiffle ball bats will get them knuckles harder and enhance the grip on the aluminum bats when you FINALLY use them. Hey, you make it harder in practice than in the game.

Sure, Coach Claw, give them a break. You don’t want anybody losing their kneecaps from all that crawling.

“Gentlemen, My hand suddenly changed into a lobster claw so we’re going to cut practice short so I can get to Milford Minor Emergency Clinic before it closes.”

This was interesting. There was an article about oft-mispronounced words such as “cache”. It is not like “ca-SHAY” but simply “cash”. With that in mind

Today’s Headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. In A Heated Argument With Reporter As He’s Discussing Latest Community Service Sentencing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I keep telling people it’s Orthenial James, not Orange Juice like the stuff you drink out of the Minute Maid can.”

And the players look conventional with the possible exception of Shrek’s son to your right. As long as we’re going color scheme here, who forgot to paint the dude green? And where did he come from anyway? Coach Claw or Thorpiverse in general is trying to pencil this one in, hoping nobody notices. Keep his profile discreet and Shrek will mingle in with the rest of the Yankees. Okay, they’re wearing red so we’ll compromise and call them Crimson Mudlarks in Pinstripes. Satisfied? So he’s Shrek’s second cousin twice-removed who once played for the Yankees and Cubs and once hit one to Waveland Avenue who got released and still misses the game so he forged his birth certificate and physical and now is proudly wearing Mudlark Tradition. I think we’re square.

Come to Mike Smith Firestone in New Albany, Indiana. He has great tires at great prices and friendly service to boot. I know, because my tires were down to nubs until I swung in and got a great deal and I was off and running in 20 minutes. The staff told me that they were super-busy with work. I can see why. When you treat people the right way, you’re gonna be busy. Sounds like a good business to me. Take the New Albany exit off of I-64, look for Market Street, the second street north of the river and it’s downtown at State and Market.

Support Small Business, Gang. You need to go where everybody knows your name.

We’re really trying to be twice as nice

We just can’t go for plots repeating the same old lines

Use this to death

Now you’ve squelched the show

Oh, Gil, forget about it

Now say, No Go

Yeah, we’ll stomach anything

That this plot can do

Yeah, almost anything

That this plot can spew

But we can’t go for this


No can do

We can’t go for this


No can do

We can’t go for Gil


Can’t go for Gil

Can’t go for etc.

Gotta hand it to Thorpiverse for its boldness in these Easter Island mugs that have been Exhibit A lately. Either T-verse is trying to educe proper effect or Gil and Kaz need a tender moment alone as they evidently can’t wait until they kiss their mates when they step through the front door later this evening. Well, at least they’re waiting. until the players leave before they start smooching. We don’t want the baseball teams to get any suspicious ideas in their heads. Sam the Lion in The Last Picture Show called it trashy behavior. Maybe Sam the Lion needs to supervise this one before Mimi finds out that Gil and Kaz were involved in double the trashy behavior.

And I remember at the beginning of the movie when the deadbeats (played by Timothy Bottoms and Jeff Bridges) walk in the diner and sit down and chow down when one of the townies sharply points out to the tune of “Y’all play football like you eat, you might win a few games”. Kinda sorta my feelings here. If they’d play baseball or softball like Butthead Brito complains or Peppermint Patty bitches or Zane throws through the used Toyo tire or Dr. Pearl shows up for more than suspending a guy for buttering his bread or Zane and Katy kiss or Gil and Kaz kiss, they might have a few more wins under their belts, not to mention less wasted panels on Butthead choking on his organic cottage cheese exclaiming that people on welfare are the only ones to populate the library.

Sam the Lion at The Bucket

“Y’all play football like ya eat them Bucket Burgers, shit, we might win a game or two in the Valley Conference.”

“Sam the Lion, my mom got arrested for blowing up The Diner and I’m hungry.”

“Sorry, Corina, I need to change my prescription.”

And before they left did Gil ask

“What’s the magic word?”


Or better, is this like in Heartbreak Ridge where Sergeant Highway orders his men to fall out on the street and one of the charges, Jones, leads a mini revolt against Highway because he thinks Swede, a hunk of a Marine that ever braced the ranks, can whup Highway’s butt. Well

“Private Zane, you and the whole team are to sit together this time and not be splintered like the football team was at the volleyball matches.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Coach. SWEDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Swede, Swede, SWede, SWede, SWEDe, SWEDe, SWEDE, SWEDE, SWEDE, SWEDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Swede, say something charming to Coach Thorp.”

“I’m going to rip your head off and scoop your guts out with a butter knife.”

“So you see, Coach Thorp, this plot has run its course. Hit the road, Jack, AND DONCHA COME BACK NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE”


Swede is knocked out cold from Gil’s aroma of Chulapas he had for lunch at Taco Bell

“Now you ladies sit in the stands together as a team while you’re watching the other ladies play or I still have some left in the tank from that 3-bean salad I had right before practice.”

Well, I think you see the result in P2. Nothing like cohering as a team in identical trapezoidal sneakers. I couldn’t think of a better way to bond. Bad odors make players do the strangest things.

“I ain’t gonna tolerate any more of this trashy behavior.”

“Sam the Lion, we’re playing Monopoly.”

“I thought I was at the Thorp household but wasn’t sure.”

Thank you, Thorpiverse, for not keeping us guessing. The opponent is Finney, the nickname is the Highlanders so that nobody gets ideas that the F on the helmet stands for The Fightin’ Flunkees, and the school colors are black and Mountain Dew green. They must have made the decision about these colors while they were standing around a pop machine.

And Milford is in a heap of trouble if the situation is correct, although we don’t know how many are out. But say there’s nobody out, the one lesson I learned from a jam like this (as Coach Stuard used to teach me) was Get An Out. As Don Sutton used to say, trade bases for outs, trade runs for outs. True, the Highlanders might scratch across a few runs but if you got 3 outs in the exchange, you’ve minimized the damage.

“I want an out, Katy.”

“But we’re playing Monopoly, remember? And you just landed on my Boardwalk and I have a hotel. You’re gonna need more than outs.”

And if Mimi is skillfully coaching, she can get the Flunkees, out by out and get the team in the dugout for their turn to bat. Corina Corrupt can learn to get out of a bases-loaded jam by taking it one out at a time, teaching her that when her mom is sent off to Sing Sing for terrorist activities involving Milford Elementary and The Diner, she can wait for parole on her mom one year at a time until 2037 when the parole hearing is due. Don’t try to negotiate this sentence with one swing. And risky double plays when the sure out was better is not going to expedite the sentence and get her mom released next week. Mother and Child Reunion will happen one run at a time but remember, play to win on the road, play to tie at home.

Come to Jeff Smith Marathon in Edwardsville, Indiana. My goodness, they were busy when I came in. I am always greeted with a friendly smile as are the other customers who come in for gas or repairs. And they were BUSY fixing cars and trucks. You should have seen all the vehicles waitingvto becfixed. And with great gas and great prices, why go anywhere else? And it’s easy to get to. Just take exit 118 off I-64 in Indiana and as soon as you get off the exit and get on Indiana 62 west, you will see the building immediately to your left. Come in to a place where everybody knows your name. They know mine.

Support Small Business and keep America working.

“And there’s been a pitching change. We’ll see if Corina Karenna can work her magic more than her mouth after these messages. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

At the Shaw residence at 1:00 A.M. in the backyard

“Honeyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, I’m hornyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Come out, come out, wherever you are!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Some rustling in the bushes by the back fence


“Damn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I missed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Honey, what are you shooting at?”

“Woman, you are in a hunting zone. And I suggest you depart at your earliest convenience.”

“Why are you wearing camouflage? And why are you in a blind under the ground? And WHAT are you hunting?”

“There’s this Nicaraguan squirrel monkey that’s been eating the veggies out of our garden when he’s not eatin’ the chestnuts out of our tree. This ain’t Wal-Mart. He’s going to have to go to a fruit amd veggie stand if I don’t fill him with a chock full of lead.”

“Darling, not only should you call Milford Critter Concepts but I can always buy more seeds at Milford Garden & Variety. I can’t get more sex at a fruit stand.”

“I ain’t callin’ nobody that couldn’t trap Winnie the Pooh with a whiskey jug full of honey. The trick is to be smarter than the critter. I watch a lot of National Geographic. Shoot, Marlon Perkins on Wild Kingdom said you have to sit in the trees for days if you want to think like a squirrel monkey or any monkey or even The Monkees.”

“Then why are you in a blind below?”

“Damn, Woman, you ask the stupidest questions. Again, as Mr. Perkins said, you have to think like the monkey. So you have to use reverse psychology. The Nicaraguan squirrel monkey is looking up a tree and just when he can’t find anything BLAM, you got him between the eyes from below, DOA. Mr. Perkins and his team shot a hippo in Tanzania one summer with that methodology.”

“But Milford Critter Concepts was able to clear a bunch of raccoons that were getting populated behind Milford Elementary safely, without any guns. The kids were spared exposure to animals with rabies.”

“Mrs. Shaw, if that place gets its jollies off of feeding them peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so that the Jif gives them indigestion and they’re too sick to eat an oak twig, more power to ’em. I am a man and I will use manly methods to teach this Nicaraguan squirrel monkey a lesson he will never forget.”

“You might want to try those manly methods on me.”

“And waste all my buckshot on the woman I united with at the altar? I’d rather shoot a snow leopard with an elephant gun.”

“Then why don’t I put on some camouflage, give you a dose of EREC-3500, and we do it here in the blind?”

“I couldn’t argue with her there. Plus the Nicaraguan squirrel monkey got picked by Milford Dog Pound and had to spend a night in the cages with the collies before he got deported to the Managua Zoo. We had the time of our lives and camouflage never felt better. I might have her wearing tree branches more often. With treatment plans and programs that work, don’t you think you should hunt down your own sexual identity at Milford Men’s Clinic? There’s nothing to hide and everything to gain. Get your elephant gun in gear, only at Milford Men’s Clinic.”

You need to cut out this trashy behavior or I’m going to call Coach Claw. How do you expect to win the badminton tournament? But God bless you anyway, Gang.

April 29, 2021

Thanks For The Cupcake, Coach Ding Dong.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:33 am

Gang, were you as taken aback as I was at the topic Coach Dipsh-, er, Coach Mimi had in mind? With all the sleaze and gossip flying, especially when Corruptvirus enters the room, I was anticipating the conversation to be dragged down to Valley of the Dolls proportion. And I was entertaining the possibilities

“Corina, do you think Becca has herpes? I understand her sexual behavior is not too discreet whenever we don’t have practice so if you’ll slip a couple of IUD’s in her gym bag, I’ll make you the team captain.”

Aaaaaaaaaa, a bit too brash. Let’s try again, shall we?

“Corrupto, I think my husband is running around on me. If you’ll put a tail on him, I’ll contact Milford Community College for a softball scholarship. Here’s a 50 and the keys to the rent-a-car. Be discreet when he pulls up at the Milford Holiday Inn. Park in the semi section behind the Freightliners that pull in for the night.”

Aw come on, Gang. Sometimes non-leadership takes its toll on Gil. The temptations can be overwhelming.

“Coconut Head, I’ll give you a year’s supply of Milford Vending products, Twinkies included, if you’ll get in the trunk of Guthrie’s GTO and see if it’s true that he and the rest of the basketball team has been selling our signs to the other Valley Conference teams. Here’s a crowbar.”

Well, these scenarios pique interest anyway. None of this anti-climatic college stuff.

Because I am intrigued by the animal control businesses out there

Today’s Headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Calls Milford Critter Concepts After Latest Incident At His Condo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“What else could I do when there’s a giraffe in the shower and I had to get cleaned up for a date tonight?”

Gang, any of you remember Pro Wrestling on WTBS in Atlanta when Gordon Solie was the host (“…and, uh, Coach Thorp really experiencing his problems presently in the ring with a one Tommy Rich…”)? Remember Maniac Mark Lewin? His manager, The Great Mephisto? Well, while Mephisto is spewing out his bull on his charge (“…he has been in search uv ze truth to be ze great wrestling specimen he eez now…”) , Maniac Mark Lewin is posing in front of the cameras, showing off his physique and I mean he WAS all muscle, not an ounce of fat on the guy. He has on these nice Haggar dress slacks and no shirt, not saying a word, then with one hand wrapped around his other wrist, the free hand is in an open palm position, as if he’s meditating with his palm as part of the process.

So when I saw the palm in the same position today, only with a cupcake in tow, I was momentarily thinking that Maniac Mark Lewin had come to Mimi’s office for some reason.

“Sure, Great Mephisto, any edge I can get. When we turn in our lineup cards, you can unleash Mr. Lewin to apply the sleeper hold to the other manager. I’ll just tell the umpire that security at softball games has been getting a little lax.”

“Zank you, Coach Mimi. Zey closed ze Milford Coliseum zees week for renovations and my precious Mark Lewin needs plenty uv pract-eeez.”

I just can’t see Corina interrupting pro wrestling matches and body-slamming some Freezer Thompson or Mr. Clyde or Generic Stooge after she has displayed her appendage as in P1. Oh, she’s a trouble-maker and royal pain in the butt all right but the referee Frank Morrell or Jerry Calhoun will prevent any further misadventures the way they used to separate Ole Anderson and Thunderbolt Patterson.

“Great Mephisto, don’t you think, uhhhh, that Maniac Corina Crazy is going a little too far indeed? She just crammed a whole case of cupcakes into her opponent.”

“And Mr. Solie, ze TWIM readerz and Milford General Popu-lay-shun weel see more uv zees as a penaltee for daring to challenge her power and writing her out uv zee screept. Baysball and Sooftball weel be tor-chur to watch for ze next two months.”

“Fair enough. We’ll be back after a word from our sponsors. You’re watching Milford Championship Wrestling here at the WDIG studio. Don’t go away.”

But the saving grace is the artwork in P1 (Saints be praised) . Mimi actually has boobs, not Brunswick Bowling Specials, and the bushes look like bushes, with the exception of Bugs Bunny kibbutzing the conversation to the extreme right. And the papers on her desk (bench warrant? Why?) are stacked meticulously neat. The lone glaring exception is the trim on the window facing in one direction and the trim to the entrance to The Hall of Mirrors facing in the opposite direction. Still gotta be Escher-free. But a noble effort and the cupcake looks like something Maniac Mark Lewin can eat after he’s applied the sleeper hold to Coach Thorp.

If ya apply the sleeper hold to the hog ya is rasslin when the judges ain’t lookin’ cuz the dang thang is like pinnin’ yore Chevy to the ground, ya might be a redneck.

And let’s face it, what Mimi is conferring over with Maniac Mark, I mean, Corina is a perfectly valid question, either to play ball or just attend overall. And I’m not totally convinced that she couldn’t play college ball based upon her attitude after watching Lawrence Funderburke try to make it under Bob Knight’s coaching. Funderburke was the attitude of attitudes and so he surprised EVERYBODY when he signed with Indiana. But it not surprisingly didn’t last long as several Hoosier players, particularly Pat Graham, a sharpshooter out of Floyd Central, Indiana (suburban New Albany) , made an astute observation. When Funderburke chose to eat team meals in the cafeteria away from all the other players, he told his fellow Hoosiers “Take a good look at him now because he won’t last past Thanksgiving”. The observation proved correct.

What compounded matters was when one of Knight’s assistants, Joby Wright, grabbed Funderburke by the arm in his dorm to try to talk sense into Funderburke. Knight could be grab-by-the-collar when the player was a little over-the-line and many players understood. They knew what they were getting into. That said, it really wasn’t terribly wise for Wright to perform the action, given Funderburke’s volatile situation. The best thing to do was simply let him walk out the door. A coach can do nothing if the player decides to go play for another coach.

And again, Corina has what it takes based upon the information so far, although you never know. At this point, the odds say she got game. But that really isn’t the issue here. I just don’t think the readers are ready for another episode with Miss Corrosion. When she broached the subject of cookies a couple of days ago, I wouldn’t be surprised that Pavlov’s Dog reaction of brownies popped in everybody’s mind. She has been snarly for God-knows-how-long and is anybody really ready for another dose of “Don’t pour water into acid or you’ll have Miss Corrosion splattering all over you”? I thought not.

Mimi is like that leopard in the Bugs Bunny cartoon where Bugs asks, when the leopard is being served coffee, how many lumps of sugar does the leopard want. And when the leopard replies “Oh, three or four”, Miss Corrosion wops Mimi on side her head with a Hillerich & Bradsby Special. Of course, I think everybody should get a chance to right his or her ship but even when Miss Corrosion served brownies to two QB’s with egos the size of Corina’s lack of tactfulness, she never really changed her spots. She’s just as nauseating now as she was when she was introduced and that trend of ad nauseum will like carry over to Milford Community College.

At a Milford Baseball game one afternoon

“Great Mephisto, how could you let that maniac put a sleeper hold on my husband? Now we’re going to have to reschedule the game.”

“Relax, Mrs. Zorp. I will apply a potion zat weel wake him up before midnight.”

And what makes Mimi or anybody else think that Corina is ready for college life? I certainly do not deny that Corina has the intelligence and the discipline to handle the academic load. She will do well on her SAT’s, a measure incidentally on a student’s readiness for college academics, NOT on a student’s IQ, even though it is clear that Corina has the IQ and preparation for State U. But no professor is going to stomach her visceral attitude or speech in Biology Lab. Yeah, don’t tell the teacher assistant that the dissected frog reminds you of the cafeteria food. She better not write term papers with her acerbic approach or she could be gone sooner than Lawrence Funderburke. Spew her venom in Lifetime Tennis when the course is a dumb-jock-laden easy A? You deserve to flunk if you can hit it over the net or answer correctly that James Naismith utilized tennis for Spring as a continuation of Muscular Christianity from basketball season but tell the PE teacher that tennis is for people who couldn’t make Knappe’s Valley Modified team.

But you go right ahead and send that application back to Milford Community College. Maybe once we can see a sow’s ear turn into silk purse. Yeah, and Gil might wake up in the next five minutes from that sleeper hold. We’ll be waiting.

Oooooooookkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back as a yin to Corina’s yang. Take ‘er away, Gene

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought that if Mimi gave Corina some________________ out of the machine, Corina might change her mind.”

P3 is full of absurdities, they might as well be in the Pantheon of Mysterious Objects even if they’re really not objects per se. For example, I know Miss Corrosion is a talented player but no way can she twirl a cupcake on her fingers a la Meadowlark Lemon. She might as well be twirling her chunky bracelet. And is the only way I can Corruptvirus to talk is if Mimi feeds her a whole crate of Ho Ho’s? Sure, If I want her to sign with Arizona or UCLA, I’ll be sure to secure that reservation at Red Lobster. Maybe check the wine list to seal the deal.

And the room looks like they’re in The Riddler’s hideout. That window is so high, Batman and Robin are about the only ones brave enough to scale it vertically. And if you look closely, is that the top of the ceiling or are Mimi and Miss Corrosion sitting outside a gigantic doll house? I’ll give this last one Honorable Mention in the Pantheon of Mysterious Objects.

At the Thorp household, Gil negotiating a Batman maneuver up the garage door

“Damn!!!!!! Almost there!!!!!!!!! I can slide down the chimney and get my keys!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil, I’ve been getting dinner ready all afternoon.”

And judging by Corina’s words, are we to bring back Corina’s mom into this discussion? Wasn’t she some kind of terrorist that we just swept under the rug until the present conversation? You kind of get the feeling, reading between the lines of Corina’s protests, that she will eventually implode and it will have every bit to do with Mom being once being a member of the PLO. Boy, that’s a lot on your plate when you’re trying to give signals to your pitcher when your mom is bombing a McDonald’s in Tel Aviv. Mimi, you might want to gracefully back away from this literal load of dynamite.

But maybe Mimi’s right. Corina will be an All-Star catcher and win MVP in the Valley Conference while her mom gets the chair in Tyre for excess violent activity, especially destroying the kiddie horse up front at the Tyre Wal-Mart Supercenter.

“And we’ll be back to see if Gil wakes up after Maniac Mark Lewin applied the sleeper hold and sees his wife and kids again after these messages. You’re watching Milford Championship Wrestling on WDIG-TV. Don’t go away.”

“Mommy, Daddy looks funny with all that makeup. And why is he hiding behind the bushes in the backyard with a shotgun?”

“This is new on me, Keri, sweetie.”

In the backyard

“Gil, why are you wearing all that camouflage on your face? And put the gun down. What will the neighbors think?”

“Mimi, I’m going to catch that skunk, one way or the other. That anteater might have slipped out of my grasp but I’ve tracked down that skunk’s feeding habits. It likes to eat the herbiage in the corner over there. One munch on a twig and BLAM-Make my day.”

“Honey, there is no need to go through all this when you can call Milford Critter Concepts. They have safe practices designed to remove unwanted pests so that we’re all happy.”

“No way, Mimi. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. When that raccoon took my softball glove out of my garage, I didn’t have any equipment for that Major Industrial Slo-Pitch Championship. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice-“

“Gil, you are scaring the kids. And Milford Critter Concepts takes major credit cards including American Express. You can even write a check if you deposited that money like I asked you.”

“It is better to be on the hunt. Lying here behind the poses more of a challenge. Believe me, when I shot that armadillo, I knew what it felt like to be a man. It was man against Godzilla and you know the rest of the script, I’m assuming.”

“Gil, if you shoot and hit somebody’s bathroom window, YOU will do the explaining. I wouldn’t know what to say to my neighbor with him just wearing a towel and cussing like a skunk.”

“She was right. I called Milford Critter Concepts and the skunk was as good as gone. I was wondering why the shed smelled so bad. But Milford Critter Concepts took care of that and many other problems. They even found my glove in the sewer. Just add some linseed oil and I’m good for the next tournament. A beaver does not have a chance to build a dam by the verandah with their safe and tried-and-true methodolgy. Mimi and I can drink a brew in peace, knowing that beaver will have to set up shop at Dr. Pearl’s country estate. Give them a call today and remove the pests that don’t always come through the front door.”

Gang, it’s okay. I’ll wait until Gil wakes up. The Great Mephisto said the potion should wake him up in a couple of hours. You go on to your own affairs. And God bless you, Gang.

April 27, 2021

It Took Five Days To Get To The Punchline????

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:25 am

Gang, to put this in its proper perspective, the Britos and their guest, Zane, were at the dinner table when last I posted. Since then, Irritation Man is still bitching about library waste, Zane went into a Rush 2112 Overture soliloquy (“…Milford is still in my eyes, the library is still in my head, I hear its siren, sadly smile, and lie a while in bed…”) , Katy is having to beg Bill Bailey once again to come home and Mrs. Brito is mad as Hell and not gonna take it anymore. And, naturally, Gil is not around to see any of this.

Allllllllll righty then.

And it has been seventeen (that’s right, put a 1 and 7 together, you got it in ya) days since we have had sports and that was when Katy (an educated but logical guess) slid into a base ahead of the Henninger fielder’s throw. Boy, excitement galore. No need to show Corinavirus going yard or Milford relief spelled Jocelynn Brown (hey, she’s been relegated to utility Jack-of-all-trades after Mimi dumped her at catcher for Corrosion Virus) striking out the side when it is sufficient to observe that Ms. Brito has her sliding technique down to a science. And why show Mimi giving Becca the green light to round third and get an insurance run when you can show the ladies engaged in virtual gossip on the bus? There’s no need to be out of character here. Softball takes a back seat to idle chatter any day in the world of Thorpiverse.

Today’s Headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Scientists At Milford Community College To Conduct Study On Pin Oak Trees Emerging From The Azalea Bushes Behind Gil’s Office!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“As long as they don’t interfere with the Intramural Softball Season, I don’t have a problem with it.”

AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S GOT HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SOMEONE GET THAT RAID OUTDOOR SPRAY AND NUKE THAT TARANTULA OFF OF ZANE AIM FOR THE EYES IT’S GOT EIGHT OF THEM-oops, never mind, that’s Katy pawing Zane in an act of consolation for her father being as creepy as Them! And Katy, you wore lavender the other day, did the tarantula bite your outfit and turn a dark purple as a result? Boy, the color scheme parade seems to have gotten sidetracked down a cul-de-sac. Then there’s the trees. I’m glad Thorpiverse has finally consulted an encyclopedia and figured out what an oak tree branch diagram looks like; now if it can move past the concept that oak trees don’t grow out of your shrubbery, we can finally conquer twerpy trees and freak hands all in one swing. Assuming we ARE getting back to the ballpark before June.

At the Milford Comedy Club

“…What do I look like, Godzilla after he ripped a sugar maple out of a hollyhock’s socket?????????”

Steely Dan’s Pretzel Logic is quietly playing on someone’s walkman in the back row

“Gil, we waited five days until you got to the point?????”

I have a serious question for Thorpiverse. Did someone flush his crayons down the commode in the art room? Mrs. Brito’s hair was chestnuts-roasting-on-an-open-fire brown the last time I posted, now she’s Tom Petty today. Don’t come ’round the library no more, hubby, unless you take the place of Mr. Anonymous Humanoid Who Bolted For Colorado And Will Never Be Seen In This Lifetime Again. Oh, we’ve given up (STOP!!!!!) on a plot that ain’t stronger, fer sure.

And okay, kudos to T-verse for remembering that Mrs. Brito was wearing pants the other day, complete with a belt that went actually through the belt loops. Lord knows, we’ve seen an occasional Jerry Lawler/Jeff Jarrett Southern Tag Team Title bit of apparel wrapped around Gil or Mimi. And granted, when she stands up, she probably pulled her shirt down to hide the “Libraries Don’t Bite” tattoo on her navel and also covers the belt. That makes sense so far.

But then she was wearing her eco-friendly green casual shirt the other day, now she must have stolen her husband’s shirt when he was busy ranting that libraries DO bite, literally and figuratively. I guess her “Save The Hollyhock-Grown Catalpa Trees” campaign is on hold for the moment. And where did Mr. Butthead get that red shirt? Did he rip it straight off of Bob Knight when he was busy chewing on a Big Ten official? At least when Coach Knight was arguing, he had a case. Geez, Mr. Butthead, if you’re going to take wings off of flies or a walker off of some 97-year-old granny, will you PLEASE have something to say? The world does not revolve around the Milford Public Library System. Trust me. We will get the Middle East problem solved with or without cutbacks in the janitorial staff at said location.

P1-“Kill Mr. Brito, Kill Mr. Brito…”

“And we’ll be back for the conclusion of “The Zombies Invade Milford” after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”

Then there’s the cuisine. Mr. Butthead was so wrapped up in his malarkey that he didn’t finish the pea pods or the Fruity Pebbles on his plate. Maybe they have a dog that’ll lick the rest. And saying, for argument’s sake, that that’s Katy’s plate that Mrs. Brito is picking up, SHE didn’t finish her White Russia apple turnover, baked cauliflower a la mode, and green mini-tacos. But she had a valid reason. And who would leave a whole bowl of breaded asparagus wedgies unconsumed? There are starving kids in Oakwood who’d turn in their primers for a sample. And is thst a sugar dispenser? That’s about the only reasonable food item displayed but ain’t no way I’m pouring sugar on my wedgies.

And Mrs.Brito makes an excellent point in P3. Why it took several days and wasted soap-opera-for-sports time to reach this conclusion but we’re here, about to waste some more time and sports action for the glory of Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. But who’s counting? But arrive we have and face it, what she says mirrors what Frank Zappa used to say “When you’re 18, register to vote and run for office.” No truer words spoken.

But Franku mentions P4 a lot and I want to pursue his excellent concept and run with this

P4-“Brito? Ya doesn’t have ta call me Brito!!!!!!!!! You can call me Butt. Or you can call me Butthead. Or you can call me Burrito Butthead. Or you can call me Asswipe Burrito Butthead. Or you can call me Asswipe Burrito Butthead, Esquire. But ya doesn’t have ta call me Brito. And I WILL run for that position on the library board. How many T’s in ‘Butthead’ or ‘Worthless As Tits on a Boar’?”

If ya have ta use Tums ta take care of all that gas ya got from the fried cottage cheese with Heinz Ketchup ya ate fer dinner, ya might be a redneck.

As long as I’m on the subject of Jerry Lawler and Mrs. Brito talks about running your mouth, God, the number of times Andy Kaufman ran his mouth when he was taunting Jerry Lawler. I swear, Andy had the whole town of Memphis, or Milford if you will, in a frenzy. Talking about how Lawler was just a hayseed and his brain was sitting on the tractor seat. But I remember when Lawler and Kaufman appeared on the Letterman show and if you’ll sub Brito in for Kaufman, Lawler is taking a lot from Brito and saying he doesn’t play around with sissies like Brito in the ring. The line of the night was when Lawler tells Brito “Your dad wanted a boy and your mom wanted a girl and it looks like they both got what they wanted”.

Keep flapping your jaws in Milford or the Mid-South Coliseum, Brito. One day, you might win the Southern Tag Team Title from Lawler and Jarrett.

“Does Zane eat more of Mr. Brito or more of Mrs. Brito’s cooking? In a moment, you’ll find out on ‘The Zombies Sell Real Estate And Have The Brito’s House On The Auction Block’. You’re watching WDIG-TV. Don’t go away.”

“Mrs. Brito is a pretty darn good cook, isn’t she? I’d love to sit on my easy chair watching the NFL Draft with a bottle of Busch and a plate of fried cottage cheese. Top it with Velveeta and I’m in Hog Heaven.

But I’m not here to talk about a fifth of Jack and some Egg Plant-Flavored Cream of Wheat while I’m watching the Senior Bowl. Hi, this is Coach Thorp on behalf of Milford Beverage Warehouse and speaking of recliners, The Warehouse and Milford Furniture Outlet have teamed up for an exciting new promotion guaranteed to up your game and excite your taste buds and relax, all in the same building.

The Slumber/Kick Back/Elevate concept is drawing rave reviews as many people imbibe their favorite suds while indulging in lumbar liberation. This recliner, designed by Hooked on Chilling Out, possesses all the fine features that you expect from a recliner. No cheap leather that some sleazy manufacturer obtained from cows shot between the eyes in the Ruhrgebiet region of Germany that had been in the pastures too long. No sir, the chestnut leather was hand-picked from all the cows in Italy that make for a toughened products. Animal hide smack dab in the middle of the wine region will do that.

And with a purchase of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, The Warehouse will pick up $50 on the purchase of your new recliner. Boy, it’s nice to know that I can use that freed-up money to settle my account with Milford Lawn Maintenance. Now I can slumber and slurp on Tito’s finest, knowing the grass won’t get as tall as the mail box out front.

But some of you like to kick back and watch Major League Baseball on TV. No problem. With a purchase of a 30-Pak of Miller High Life at a slumbering price I can’t announce over the radio as attested by the riot last week, you can enjoy that Duralux Mahogany Recliner after The Warehouse kicks in a 25% contribution on your purchase. Now you’ll have piece of mind while you’re watching Harry lambaste the Cubs on a no-out, bases-loaded opportunity that went the way of David Clyde (I tried, Rob, I honestly tried) . Fun at the old ballpark.

And here’s something for you fussbudgets if anything else doesn’t grab ya, if you’ll purchase a 750 ml bottle of Maker’s Mark Dragonfire-Processed Bourbon, not only will The Warehouse contribute a sizeable portion to the cause, you will be able to sit in your Hooked on Chilling Out recliner next to the statue of Wink Martindale we proudly display up front WITH one of the arm rests boldly proffering his autograph. How he has time to autograph recliners and host The Joker’s Wild never ceases to amaze me. But you can watch The Joker’s Wild thus evening and sip on your Bourbon, confident that you have a piece of him in your living room.

And that’s just the tip of the beer bottle. Come in and check out the other recliner promotions we have to slake your thirst for The Good Life. You’ll find that chillin’ with a Bud while chillin’ on the recliner watching Milford Pro Wrestling is just the ticket when you want to take it easy in all the right places. Come down to all the right places at The Warehouse and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”

I don’t care what any of you say, I still insist that Andy Kaufman could have beaten Jerry Lawler if the officiating had been better. But God bless you, Gang.

April 22, 2021

Way To Be Tactful, Gruff Daddy.

Filed under: Chunky Bracelets, Gil Thorp, huge earrings — tdrewhardin @ 1:09 pm

Gang, going down Memory Lane one more time, there was this scene in Wait ’til Your Father Gets Home where Harry Boyle gets Father of the Year at some organization meeting but his kids refuse to come to the banquet to honor him. After Harry finally puts his foot down, his daughter, Alice agrees to go but only in this outfit that is, shall we say, pretty revealing. She’s not terribly attractive and that just compounds the problem. It’s like watching someone in serious need of Weight Watchers displaying more under the hood than necessary. Don’t go to the banquet showing off that rusty radiator.

Well, Irma Boyle finally settles Harry down, a key perhaps in finding a solution to the impasse. She tells Harry to be tactful, something Harry agrees to but then when Alice walks in to join them for breakfast, Harry blurts out


So why were we NOT surprised that not only are we getting needlessly sidetracked from Spring sports, Gruff Daddy wasn’t about to keep his word? Not that the smile by Mrs. Gruff Daddy wasn’t an indication that Jerry Lawler was going to go ahead and throw the Mrs.Reference Librarian through the ropes anyway even though Lance Russell made The King swear on a stack of Bibles that he’d be on his best behavior. Well, you know what they say, the best laid plans of Pro Wrestling and Spring sports do indeed get smashed into the turnbuckle.

C’mon, judging by the way Brito Butt is standing in P1, does anyone possibly interpret that to mean he’s going to be Ward Cleaver and talk about what Katy and Beaver have for homework? No sir, ol’ Ward Brito ain’t about to talk about who’s playing Kate in “Taming of the Shrew” although it came down to Katy (no relation) and Gruff Daddy. Only too much travel, especially to the Milford Public Library, kept the part from being awarded to Shrew Daddy.

And what the Hell is he doing standing there ANYWAY? Is he the dining room monitor? He has enough on his plate roaming the aisles of the library performing an audit on the number of National Geographic’s read off the magazine rack to even care how Mrs. Gruff Daddy sets the silverware. Does he give her demerits if she places the spoon on the wrong side of the tureen? Fines her every time she doesn’t place a napkin under the steak knife? And place that Coffee-Mate creamer next to the bowl of mashed potatoes or no TV tonight.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O. J. And Cochran Still In An Imbroglio With Judge Ito Over Community Service Sentencing!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I need to get my substitute teacher license to perform cafeteria duty. There’s a trick in motivating kids to putting their trays in the dispenser and throwing away their Ho Ho wrappers.”

Vaganova, I just gotta say this, I LOVE your take on the high school names. They did indeed sound like names that had to have come from somewhere. Your analysis is priceless. Keep it up, My Man.

Doncha just love the layout in P1? Chunky bracelets, flying saucers, and roses that call Gruff Daddy his proper due. Man, does the FTD Florist deliver hyacinths that yell “YOUR MOTHER SUCKS A GARDEN HOSE IN MILFORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!”? Maybe I don’t want to know. I was just being hypothetical. Don’t take me serious, Thorpiverse, and call Milford Florist for the truth. I can just see this same collection of roses, when no one is looking, in a tete-a-tete with Gruff Daddy

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you occasionally hump the coffee table because you have a severe case of jock itch.”

“You have 12 books overdue? It’ll be our little secret.”

“And they’re mostly Harlequin Romances? Mum’s the word. You’ve had to work lately, we roses understand.”

“And I won’t tell the Milford Bugle that you and Chet Ballard broke into Coach Thorp’s house to smear him by taking pictures of those Penthouse’s under his mattress.”

Gruff Daddy at the mercy of Wine and Roses, what a way to start off the Spring plot.

And in the Pantheon of Mysterious Objects, WHAT is to the left on the table? The vessel Gazoo utilizes when he drops into the Burrito residence unexpectedly? Did he fly through the chimney right before din-din? This ought to be interesting, Zane and Gazoo listening to Gruff Daddy bitching about the empty seats and replacing them with Milford Gaming Casino. You mean every day isn’t a holiday at Milford Public Library???? I don’t know, me and Gazoo think the microfiche of Milford History-The Roaring ’20’s After Harding Succumbed To A Heart Attack And Normalcy is the life of the party at any household, including yours. After you’ve monitored all the chunky bracelets, you might want to check it out.

If ya set the table with the sporks ya obtained at the 7-11 and the knives ya use ta cut yore hoses under the hood and use oil pans fer plates when ya run out of Chinet paper dishes, ya might be a redneck.

Oh, that’s a real conversation starter in P2. And then, to add insult to Gil, Gruffbudget is answering his own question in P3. Looks like this is going to be one Hell of a soliquy at the Brito household this evening. What’s he going to do when the conversation gets to the weather or the Cubs?

“Naw, Mr. Gruffbudget, I don’t think they should have traded for Sutcliffe. Joe Carter was great right-handed power and why trade him when you already have Reuschel?”

“Darling, everybody went home.”

Repeat after me, Rob will have my head, Rob will have my head…

And then there’s the enthymeme in P2. For all you lunkheads who slept through SAT prep class like Gil did before they shipped his ass to the Marines, an enthymeme is an argument that is basically understood because the missing premise can be easily thought out. And in this case, Gruffbudget is making the obvious assumption that when Zane shows up at the library to study when he’s not throwing rubber balls through the Goodyear flat tire in Gil’s back yard, he is the only one there. That’s right, Mr. Gruffbudget King of Enemas and Enthymemes, Zane sits with Casper and the rest of his ghoulies and studies quadratic equations together.

And what are you going to do, Mister Gruffbudget, get up from the table and waste much of the Spring plot (oh, that never happens around here, perish the thought) going over to see if anybody’s reading the latest issue of Mojo? You must be like Coach Thorp and have no life if you have this steno pad and write down the number of minutes that has expired until somebody pick’s up this month’s edition of the Saturday Evening Post. Well, gotta finish my plate of red roses and run. I need to do research on the usage of The Sporting News, going to the john and reading it not included. I will take into consideration that if the bathroom stinks out the wazoo, somebody’s really reading the articles. That’s a good sign.

So go on and check out to see if nobody’s there, especially if Zane is sitting across from you. We’ll keep the plate of roses warm.


“Mr. Dr. Pearl, there isn’t any reason to raise your voice. I can wear a shawl to cover them. It comes in the school colors.”

To quote Harry, Boy o Boy, have we hit the jackpot for Pantheon of Mysterious Objects in P2.

Start with Katy. Notice there is no Mysterious Objects by her person because there’s no objects, period. Evidently, Mrs. Gruffbudget was so caught up in Zane coming to dinner that she forgot she had a child of her own. Oh well, she can mooch that slab of white pancakes that Zane is consuming. Or is THAT Gazoo’s contraption? I’ll give the benefit of the doubt. You might want to pass that spatula to her that’s to your right. No sense in eating empty space or white flapjacks or T-bone steaks with your fingers. You just can’t drink out of the Zane’s sugar dispenser. You’ll have to get your own glass.

And what is on Mrs. Gruffbudget’s plate? By my reckoning, chocolate cake, cauliflower, and a roll. It’s comforting to know that SOME of the Food Groups are covered, although this dinner obviously wasn’t planned with Popeye in mind. And she rounds it out with Gallo Pink Chablis, how sexy. I tell you, I always drink a goblet of Martini & Rossi when I pop open that can of Popeye Spinach right before I go to bed particularly when the mood is inviting. Then there’s Mr. Griffbudget’s plate of roses. You keep ranting about enthymemes and vacant libraries, your plate of roses is going to get cold. What are you going to do, stick them in the microwave later?

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Cochran Brokers Agreement With Judge Ito Over O.J.’s Sentencing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I’ll go ahead and watch the teenagers at lunch if Judge Ito will drop the shoplifting of Popeye Spinach at Milford Pantry charge. It’s a win-win situation.”

And even if Gruff Daddy has a point and truthfully he does, the morsel he has impaled on his fork is a red herring if I ever saw one. Granted, my argument of “The Milford Public Library does not need staff cutbacks and I don’t think that’s a rose petal about to be consumed” would not be a valid one to say the least but the skewed piece of whatever is a distraction notwithstanding. Did Mrs. Gruffbudget dump a portion of Ken L Ration Chunky Beef when he wasn’t looking? I think the overindulgence of Campell’s Chunky Chicken is affecting Gruffbudget’s judgment. Use a spoon, Gruffbudget, you’ll want to get EVERY drop of those draconian measures you may be attempting to put into play. And be careful getting any Campell’s Chunky Clam Chowder on your mustache. You wouldn’t want to look unintimidating.

The point is, while his arguments are valid, I shudder to think what he has in mind to make Milford Public Library a mean lean fighting machine. Will somebody paroled from Milford Mimimum Security man the Checkout Desk to save on paying a full-time staff member? Honestly, I can’t see Mr. Bader checking out my latest Maeve Binchy or Amy Tan. You’ll have to bring your own toilet? Hey, that’ll save a bundle on the plumbing. Charge for entering the magazine room? I dunno, they’ll just go down to Milford Newstand and read off the shelves without paying like the other deadbeats at the establishment. What are you going to do, Gruffbudget, have Free Friday and have everybody pile into the room to read Variety or Newsweek because they don’t want to pay during the remainder of the week? Egg all over your face and it’s not coming from your wife’s plate this time.

“And we’ll be back for the conclusion of Pink Floyd’s Tear Down The Wall Concert Live at Milford Public Library on Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert. This is WDIG-TV.”

“Golly Gee, I hope they don’t tear down all the library. I know they were desperate for funds and had to rip out a section to pay the sewage bill which was in arrears for several months because I did check out Milford Golf Monthly once a month.

But enough about Black Oak Arkansas busting their guitars so the Milford Public Library can restructure that same wall through a bond issue. Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage and, Folks, did you see what was eaten at the Brito domicile? I just turn my head in shame when I see Mrs. Gruffbudget eating Betty Crocker Bundt Cake and scrambled eggs off her plate. With a cinnamon roll? You gotta be kidding me.

If she had been the wise grocery shopper that she presumably makes herself out to be, she would have stocked on Gil Thorp Pure Pork Mild ‘n’ Steamy to grace her dinner table this evening. As long as she had dinner and breakfast in reverse order, she could have added a healthy helping of Gil Thorp Bourbon-Smoked Bacon Slabs to the plate and I bet ol’ Gruffybudget would stop bitching about the ozone layer, the Palestinian question, the four color map problem, Rubik’s cube, the Shroud of Turin or whether the Cubs should go the free agent route for left-handed middle relief, let alone low numbers in the Non-Fiction aisles at the library. Sausage and bacon can stop a lot of controversy dead in its tracks.

And why is Katy left out of this soup kitchen? If Mrs. Gruffbudget had been paying attention, Katy would be stuffing herself with Gil Thorp Hot ‘n’ Stinky Italian Sausage and French Toast, replete with Aunt Jemima Maple Syrup Packets. Ummmmmmm, ummmmmm, nothing like melt-in-your-mouth sausage while you’re listening to your dad prate on and on about how he’s going to send the reference librarian to the guillotine.

Then there’s Mrs. Gruffbudget’s hosting methods which leave a lot to be desired. Now who would serve a teenager like Zane a gigantic Oreo White Chocolate cookie? Mrs. Gruffbudget must have stuffed more in the parking meter than at the store. It shows. Dump the Oreo concept and send it back to the Keebler elves and get some real food like Gil Thorp Smokehouse Rib Tipped Dutch Oven Baked Kettle Cooked Mild Sausage Links. I guarantee you, watch ol’ Zane chow down on that and Gil Thorp Pure Smoked Grits. He’ll gladly listen to Mr. Butthead ramble about Zane’s non-existence at the Library tonight. Shoot, he’ll be so energized, he won’t need a tire, more like a Black Hole to pitch strikes. But that’s the coach in me talking, I suppose.

Then there’s Mrs. Gruffbudget’s plate. She not only has failed at shopping and hosting, she can’t cook worth a crap either. Did she stick her Cream of Wheat in the microwave too long? And serve that with Ore-Ida Raw Potato and wedding cake? Her head’s not in the game on this one. Why not rustle up a batch of Gil Thorp Sage ‘n’ Spicy Sausage to complement the over-nuked Cream of Wheat and salvage dinner? Her quality of life would improve and her husband might actually get a job. Normalcy might return to the Brito household. Save the cake for dessert, not as a conversation piece.

But you can save yourself the trouble that Mrs. Gruffbudget has brought on herself and get a package of Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage today. The way Mrs. Gruffbudget has it figured, some Tennessee Pride Mild, a loaf of bread, and thou by my side makes for a complete life. Hey, if you think Tenneesee Pride is something to be served when you elope, more power to you but until then, come try Gil Thorp Pure Pork Products for all your dinners and breakfasts and everything in between.”

No Gang, you can’t have my Oreo cookie. I was going to use for a welcome mat for my front door later. But God bless you anyway, Gang.

At the Milford Comedy Club

“…l look like, a reference librarian who got constipated from Cream of Wheat????”

Some heckler trying to be nice in the front row

“Not even remotely funny, Coach.”

“Yeah?????? Well, your mother drives a pickle wagon and eats rose petals!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”


“Gil, we’re in the mall.”

April 20, 2021

Thank God, Gil Respects His Butt.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:26 am

He’s totally committed

To brutal baseball dominance

He’s thrown in a tire through and through

He’ll give them quite a battle

All Nottingham can handle

He’ll plunk some

And fan some too

But ohhhhhhhhh

Gil loves them finely cut


Gil does respect his butt

Gil loves Zane’s 4-seam fastball cut

Ah, nothing like Classic Seger to start off the Gil-slaying process. And I might as well be ump-slaying while I’m at it as I have never seen a Major League, college, or high school baseball umpire wearing his FedEx uniform to the game. The Valley Conference Umpires Association must be running a tight budget this year. Really, you old-timers know who I’m talking about, Dutch Rennert and that emphatic flamboyant strike call he used to employ. Wearing purple haze and seeing a pitching heading straight downtown, then turning that purple haze 45 degrees away from the plate towards some dugout screaming STRRRRRRRRIIIIIKKKKEEEEEEEE pause ONNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEE is simply not registering.

And what in the name of Satch Davidson is the umpire doing with his hand? Was he just now done fondling the Nottingham runner crossing the plate? I thought there was a reason why the Nottingham runner was scampering with a little more giddy-up go in his step. Is the man in the powder purple uniform playing Scissors Cut Paper with himself? What’s he going to do if Rock and Scissors appear, beat himself on the head with his indicator? And is that Dilton Doiley doing the umpiring? Is Riverdale quarantined from COVID-19? Is that why Pop’s Choklit Shoppe shut down, except for the drive-thru? I just can’t see Jughead Jones trying to maneuver 1,547 hamburgers out of the drive-thru window onto Archie’s jalopy. Well anyway, remember, Dilton, good umpires come out to work, not see the game or the Nottingham player’s private parts.

Because The Beatles Rooftop Concert in ’69 was essentially the final public appearance before they broke up (although they did release “Abbey Road” in a few short months)

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Coach Thorp’s Fears Allayed As Beatles Concert On Top Of Milford’s Gym Could Be Heard In His Office!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I thought Luhm was jackhammering the roof until Dr. Pearl came in and informed me otherwise.”

Then there’s the line in P1. Now it is obvious that Thorpiverse has been doing a little too much doodling during his coffee breaks. Now T-verse would have you belive that that’s the foul line branching off from the corner of the batter’s box and it more than likely is. Well, all righty then, the line extending ad infinitum to the right is the foul line and will end just shy of the faculty water closet at Milford High. But what about the line to the left? I’m not holding my breath that that one’s going to stay in the ball park. If you see this old geezer chalking on the street while you’re pumping gas at the Circle K, you’ll know its source.

“What is this white line on my file cabinet?”

“Oops, sorry, Dr. Pearl. It’ll fade off in a day or two. Just scrub a little Pine-Sol on it.”

And okay, so the line may FINALLY end but that still doesn’t the direction of the Nottingham runner. Judging by the angle, it doesn’t look like he came anywhere NEAR home plate and that he actually ran behind the Milford catcher and the FedEx Ground driver. But as we’ve all learned in Gil’s world, close counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and comic strip realism. Just say something nice about the ump’s mother and don’t do any grabbing of your own, i. e., attack the Milford catcher’s rear end and you scored your run. Oh, and here’s your Jay’s Subs Turkey Delight you ordered.

Hey, variety is the spice of life. What fun is having no drama when Nottingham is putting on their rally caps?

If ya gotta extend the line on th’ Milford Gun Club property so th’ kiddies on the other end of town don’t entertain no no-shuns uv crossin’ inta dangerous and haz-erdd-ous terr’tory when yuz on a roll with them thar clay pigeons, ya might be a redneck.

Gang, ya gotta check out Floral Grind Florist and Coffeehouse in Fairdale, Kentucky. I drove today to see what the fuss was about since I had heard rave reviews about the place. I was not disappointed. I ordered this chicken noodle soup/pasta salad combo with a cold white chocolate coffee and it was to die for. And they have several other coffees to choose from, so have at it. They also are a gift shoppe, so you can walk in and either get a lunch or order flowers and balloons for that special someone/favorite relative or even both!!!!!! Either way, you owe to to yourself to stop by and get your own slice of Heaven. Just take the Gene Snyder Expressway to the Fairdale exit, head south until you get just just shy of a round-a-bout and the building will be on your right and you’ll see the sign on top.

Support Small Business, Gang. You need to go where everybody knows your name.

Sometimes Zane wants to leave Gil

Just give up, ditch his butt

Zane throwing in some playground scene

Due to all his talking

N’ham batters was walking

Zane will pitch pro in his dreams

But ohhhhhhhhhhhh

Gil loves Zane to the mound he struts


Gil does respect his butt

He’s glad Zane made the final cut

This is just ridiculous and absurd. Marty Moon is relegated to concierge, just someone rattling off stats and directing people to the Port-o-Lets. He’s no different than that hotel doorkeeper in the movie “That Thing You Do”. Yeah, right, Mudlarks, try the peach cobbler, best in the south. And don’t get me wrong, I have a tremendous amount of respect for that doorkeeper, God knows we need more like him all over the world but if Marty is going to just deliver the message with no axe to grind, might I suggest he be the floor man at the Milford Holiday Inn. Since Luhm is already committed to Milford High School, that’d be a perfect position for the Cowardly Lion who lost his teeth on the Yellow Brick Road. Just vacuum the rugs, apply carpet cleaner, rattle off the ERA numbers, empty the ash trays, show the Japanese tourists where the ballpark is located, consult the Valley Conference standings, clean the toilets with Oral B because someone stole the scrubbers, clean the vomit stains after Gil got hung over the night before at a stag party, announce Milford’s batting stance, emphasizing who’s hot and who’s not, listen to the Japanese tourist cuss you out in Japanese because they think Milford Ball Park couldn’t hold a candle to the Japanese baseball stadiums, buffer the dining room floor, pick up the breast that Kaz picked clean and then accidentally dropped under the table in the booth, announce the final score.

Did I leave anything out?

Oh yeah, drive home safely.

“Mr. Patterson, you have rehearsal in two hours. You KNOW Mr. White will chew me out if you show up late.”

“But I’ve always wanted to meet my idol, Del Paxton. He actually does any coaching here in Milford and I’ll go crazy if I don’t meet him.”

“Yeah? Who was Gil’s assistant before Paxton came in and I don’t mean Tod Andrews?”

“Uhhhh, Roy Gillen?”

“TAXI!!!!!!!!!!!! Get Mr. Patterson over to the basketball gym and floor the pedal. Here’s a 50 for your troubles. Now PRONTO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I’ll keep saying it, Marty is just rubber-stamping the task at hand. Shoot, Lou Boudreau could come in and do that and throw some threadbare analysis on top of that

“That’s the first high inside curveball he’s thrown through the tire all day.”

“Hell wish your commentary, Lou, lesh get a double play and lesh get oush of the inning. My Bud ish getting warm.”

Rob is going to kill me, Rob is going to kill me…

And you factor in that Marty’s outfit would win Ugly Sweater Night at a Milford Boys Basketball game and God knows what’s in the tumbler there on the desk and Marty might as well be Chuck Marlowe when he was in his kissing-up days with Coach Knight. I mean, I cannot imagine Marty Moon discussing controversial issues over the baseball team with Coach Thorp at a fireplace at the Milford Moose Lodge while coffee and Danish is served on the coffee table the way Marlowe set up the atmosphere when discussing with Coach Knight how to beat Purdue at Mackey this week. I remember one elisode where Coach Knight was so livid over the Purdue fans at Mackey that on Marlowe’s show the following week, he brought out a donkey with a Purdue cap on it whose name was Jack. I don’t think, as Coach Knight mentioned himself, I need to tell you the surname.

But is THIS what it’s going to take for Marty to shed his newly-found Mr. Rogers image?

At WDIG studios where the station manager is visibly concerned

“What are you DOING, Moon?”

“I’m just expressing my feelings for how Coach Thorp goes about motivating his players. That Jack here could do better because at least he’ll kick ’em when they’re dogging the season.”

“Well, take the Mudlark cap off and clean up the hay. Corporate’s coming anytime now.”

Did Marty get that tumbler out of a Breeze box? I saw Porter Wagoner drink from something like that. Just wondering.

GET BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GET BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


“Mrs. Pearl, how long is this going to go on? I have a plane to catch tomorrow for my seminar in Mnnesota. And are you sure our roof is sturdy enough?”

Gil, how many times do as I as a staff writer or the readership as a whole have to tell you


Do I sound concerned?

No, really, Gil hasn’t even been touchy-feely, more like grabby-clutchy. You Mudlark boys better watch your backside AND buttside. Gil has been getting his money’s worth lately. I saw a Russian flick once “A Forgotten Tune for the Flute which was about a Government official who screens entertainment acts, mainly musical, that would be acceptable for the Communist Party who runs around on his wife who travels on her job a lot. This official once played the flute in, say, the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra, but has long since put it away for the sake of his job. He gets it back out to play for this woman he falls for but his wife drops in unexpectedly during this “act” after her job renders an abrupt change of plans. After running the lover out of the house, his wife unsurprisingly smacks him hard in the face in anger. Later, during the movie, his wife asks, practically in tears, “Don’t I satisfy?”

And that’s what I want to ask Gil when he’s getting another piece of the action, Coach, has Mimi failed to supply you with what you need? Are trips to the mound just another excuse to satisfy those urges that Mimi just evidently is not providing? Is her lack of lust for life turning you into another Pee Wee Herman? Must we see one day in the Milford Trumpet that you’ve been banned from the boys locker room because you were seizing more in the showers than in Mimi’s bed? You didn’t get wet, no matter how sterile she was. Like the song says, keep your hands to yourself, even if Mimi may be saying the same thing.

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Satisfied With Explanation At Milford Luxury Condo Suites!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Agrees To Drop Charges!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sub headline

“I thought the roof was going to cave in on my living room until I heard ‘One After 909’.”

“And we’ll be back to find out if Jack’s last name is Thorp or Kaz after these messages. This is Marty Moon with WDIG-TV, a division of Learfield Sports.”

Heard in the background “Is there a shovel around here?”

At the Shaw residence at 1:30AM



“Honnnnnnneeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyy, I’m horrrrrnnnnyyyyyyyyyyy. It’s time to come to beddddyyyyyyyy-byyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeee-what on earth are you doing on the roof? In your Fruit of the Looms?”

“Oh, hey, Mrs. Shaw. I am practicing for my rooftop concert on top of The Bucket. There’s been a hitch in the negotiations. The Bucket wants me to wear a safety belt on a couch to ensure that I don’t crash land on the drive-in area. So I’m doing some tuning up until we come to an agreement.”

“Honey, I can fine-tune us to some beautiful music.”

“No way, Woman. I ain’t getting it on to ‘I Dig a Pony’. I’ll do my own rooftop concert without my wife or Lassie hunching me. What would anybody think if I was munching on a Bucket Burger while plucking ‘I Me Mine’ on my Jazz guitar and Rin Tin Tin wrapped around my leg?”

“He’d be having more fun than I am right now.”



“Wait a minute, that ain’t right. Where’s my cheat sheet…”

“Darling, put the guitar down and climb down the ladder and let’s get under our own cheat sheets.”

“The lyrics are on our bed? How’d they get there?”

“They probably went the way of our sex life, lost its way and is lifeless by the pillows.”

“Now, Woman, the rest of the band will be here shortly. The trombone player just got off his shift at Milford Foundry and Billy Preston agreed to play keyboards. It was a pain in the ass to get the old ’29 Steinway up on the roof but I paid the non-union help plenty of 50’s. I’ll be making history.”




“I’d rather make love and leave history for the history boo-“


“Shit, the piano crashed into the living room. I knew I should have told the non-union help about that rain spot.”

“Fortunately, the only damage was to the coffee table and we were going to donate that to Milford Goodwill Industries. Now it’s firewood for the winter. And when Billy Preston had to back out due to a prior engagement and my Jew’s harp player reneged on me, it was time to ‘fess up. With treatment plans that will send your Significant Other through the roof, shouldn’t you let Milford Men’s Clinic plan your own rooftop concert. Come be a part of the Fab Four, only at The Clinic.”

Doesn’t Gil satisfy you? Me neither. Anybody who grabs at will is in short supply of satisfaction or victories or both. But God bless you, Gang.

At WDIG-TV studios

“And this is Tod Andrews after his Oakwood idiots threw paper cups at our student-athletes, Chuck.”

“I understand, Coach Thorp, but why do you have Mimi on a leash and wearing an Oakwood tank top?”


Gil does respect his butt

This plot is in a rut…

April 15, 2021

Baseball, Mount Rushmore, and Magic Marker Trees, Americana At Its Finest.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:52 am

Does Gil need to take a dump in P1? I know he eats a lot of Taco Bell Egg-and-Steak Fried Bean Chocolate Burritos before a game to relieve the stress. Hey, I feel ya, Coach. There should be a Port-o-Let right outside the door that Luhm unbolted for the Spring. I feel like we’re watching Kaz and Fred Sanford walking down the hallway to the game. You hear that Mimi? This is the big one. But Coach, next time, use your walker.

And we wait in anticipation for the upcoming season. It sounds like these two gentlemen are fired up although they will in all likelihood disappear from the landscape before too long. Maybe that’s why they’re all fired up. They won’t be involved in the controversy. Lately, Corina’s played the role of removing the grime and the slime from the day-to-day operations and keep the (insert season) team from attaining Nirvana or a happy ending, whichever comes first. Maybe that’s why Katy Brito has been inserted into the scenario. Oh, c’mon, did you honestly think the Reference Lady Who’s Dr. Pearl’s Twin was going to play the role of sludge remover? I didn’t see a shovel begind her desk.

But hey, they’re walking out the door Into The Great Wide Open. Two rebels without a clue, as Tom Petty once mentioned. It must be nice to coach from the dugout in your Levi’s. No better way to establish presence with the kids than to make an emphatic fashion statement. I just hope the VO5 holds up. Spring days that look like Winter are just killers on the spray-painted hair.

Today’s Headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Slated To End Impasse Over Community Service Brouhaha Sometime In The Afternoon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I told the Judge and the jury that I’ll do Bullwinkle and Boris but ain’t no way I know how to yell like a rhino when I’M bein’ pulled out of a hat.”

Gang, remember that “Oops, I Crapped My Pants!!!!” Diaper sketch on SNL? I think Gil is wearing one today. That’s right, Coach, before you disappear for another season, don’t let the kids see you transitioning after you’ve worked out at Generic Gym from a jock strap to Fruit of the Looms you could pour Hawaiian Punch Cherry Mix into. Just let it be our little secret, Coach. Good news is that if you blow a wad that could fill the Grand Canyon and be an EPA Emergency Hazard to the Colorado River down below, you’ll have a safety net that could catch Lulu and Junior Samples if they were to jump out of the third floor of the Milford Federal Building when thry were cashing their checks they earned from Hee Haw. I know people get old and face the facts, Gil is over 60 but I never thought he was ready to wear underwear that could pass for a trampoline should the circus comes to town. But nothing has dripped all over the hallway nor the 3rd base coach’s box so we should be safe for now.

And what is Kaz caterwauling about? Was he hibernating in his classroom? It doesn’t have windows? Was he teaching geography with stalagmites all around the room? Did the Yeti make an occasional appearance after hiding in the Himalayas? Was he talking about European capitals in Mammoth Cave? Kaz, you must have come in this morning and seen the weather all around you. Were you expecting it to transition from North Pole to Miami Beach in 2 hours? I mean, you can’t wear “Oops, I Crapped My Pants!!!!” for brain lock. Ain’t no way I’m expecting Luhm to mop up the stuff that dripped out of your head. We might have you take that small Dixie cup, head to the faculty bathroom and take a urine test once you’ve deposited a sufficient amount from your cranium. We are drug-free at Milford, Coach. Have you been living in a cave?

If ya use “Oops, I Crapped My Pants!!!!” as a dipstick rag cuz yore bloodhounds chew up all the rags in yore garage, ya might be a redneck.

Folks, do we REALLY need to be reminded of what Easter Island looks like? I couldn’t imagine flying on this plane from Chile 1000 miles west and land on this inky-dinky parlez-vous island in the middle of the South Pacific with a neighboring island a million miles somewhere else that Napoleon got exiled to only to see Kaz’s mug next to this gigantic Neo-Lithic Herman Munster visage with all the tapirs running around searching for ants. Talk about a tourist trap.

And it looks like the trees crapped their pants and are positioning their droppings towards Gil’s and Kaz’s heads. How many trees actually reach 1000 feet, speaking of Mount Rushmore? Do they use the tree growing out of Gil’s head as a spare antenna when a wayward plane knocks over the WDIG tower? I think King Kong dragged Fay Wray up the tree growing out of Kaz’s head. Oh wait, it’s 45 degrees and not a cheery cloud in the sky. King Kong wouldn’t terrorize the city of Milford on an overcast day, would he? When Zane is about to make his debut after throwing at that stick-figure redwood 1000 times. Don’t rain on the corn pone script, King Kong.

Yes, South Dakota, in the interest of promoting tourism, will allow Old Man of the Mountain, er, Kaz’s face to remain in its proper stste in the Badlands. No why would you want to remove an Institution wannabe? If the tourists are snapping their cameras and pouring in money at the souvenir shop for shirts and coffee mugs with prairie dogs shooting out of The Kaz, who cares if it’s a tourist trap?

In the New Hampshire Tourist Bureau Headquarters office one afternoon

“I don’t care what the Governor says, The Old Kaz On The Mountain must be restored to its proper state. People are shifting their tourist dollars over to Vermont. Nobody brings a Polaroid to Mount Mansfield.”

And another thing, why were we surprised when Coach Kaz was less than enthusiatic about the weather? Okay, I remember when I went to my local university baseball game and a friend of mine was getting disgusted with the umpiring because he felt like the crew were trying to get the game over ASAP because of the thirty-degree weather. Finally, on a questionable strikeout of the hometown batter, my friend yelled out “C’mon, ump, it ain’t THAT cold!!!!!!!!!!!” Kaz, you’re not in Antarctica. If you don’t like coaching baseball, go to Mammoth Cave as a park ranger. Lord knows you’ve had plenty of practice hiding from reality.

Darn, he doesn’t have Barry Bader to throw around like a rag doll or through the ropes like Harley Race doing a number on Freezer Thompson. When the National Wrestling Alliance atmosphere is removed, whattya know, YOU GOTTA COACH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It shouldn’t be too hard, Kaz. Just walk to this structure called the dugout. Of course with Gil in the front, that’s like the blind leading the blind but you gotta start somewhere. And those people wearing powder blue shirts are called umpires. Just a word of warning: They hate games being interrupted by Nick’s Pizza or Jay’s Subs or invasion by extraterrestrial beings. It’d be advisable to call ahead of time and tell them to come AFTER the game. E.T. or the Kanamits really need to invade on their own time.

Otherwise, get a rule book, watch some videos, and go to coaching clinics. I’m sure the Valley Conference sponsors them. And the reference librarians can point the way to the video library. I’m almost sure of it.

Ooooooookkkkkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back with intentions to restore order. Have at it, Gene

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooooooooooo dumb (HOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought that Old Kaz On The Mountain fell off the mountain because it _______________________.”

MARTY’S BACK!!!!!!!!!!! This Vic “I’m Not Lisa And DEFINITELY Not Marty” Doucette substitution for Marty “I Got Thrown In The Dumpster For A Teenager Who Did Nothing In His Chevy Van After 60 Loyal Years Of Service” Moon just simply didn’t work. I was once watching a nail-biter between Indiana and Michigan at Crisler Arena, Michigan’s home court, when Bob Knight was coach at Indiana and Bill Frieder was coach at Michigan and the Wolverines were playing great basketball but got burned numerous times on back-door cuts, reflecting a bit of Frieder’s disorganization. Michigan lost by one point, squandering two excellent opportunities to win the game and the Michigan fans understandably were howling for Frieder’s head. Can’t blame ’em as Steve Fisher took over at the end of the season and his patient, better-structured style struck a chord with players like Glen Rice and they went on to win the National Championship.

Anyway, there were signs all over Ann Arbor with not-surprisingly unkind notes about Coach Frieder like “Fire Frieder” and “Hi Mom!!! Send Money And A New Coach!!!!!” But the clincher that I thought was hilarious was “We Hate Knight But At Least He Can Coach”. And that’s how I feel about Marty Moon. He’s a snake-in-the-grass but, by God, he’s OUR snake-in-the-grass. Relegating Marty to cameo status was like having Ward Cleaver calling on the Batphone whenever The Joker was in Milford and Commissioner Gordon only showing up at Bruce Wayne Foundation events to propose a toast. Good to see Marty back in the booth. I mean, c’mon, Marty does a better job of running over Gil and Mimi like a lawn mower. Vic can’t even get a prom date unless it’s a whole herd of buffalo. Do you REALLY want a teenager who couldn’t take Tessi to Milford Square Dance Club Bingo Night criticizing Gil’s hit-and-run moves that backfire in the late innings? Lambasting Gil’s pitching changes when the bases are loaded and Milford leading, 21-4? Arguing with Coach Kaz over who’s going to put the equipment on the bus after the game?

At the Valley Principal’s Seminar

“Oops, I crapped my pants. I’ll be right back.”

“That’s the 5th time today that Dr. Pearl has walked out. I knew we shouldn’t have served that Spiced Spaghetti and Zucchini at lunch.”

Mark Godleski “Is Everywhere” takes the hill for the Mudlarks and do you get this sick gut feeling he is EVERYWHERE? He rode with Muench and Knappe last year, bailed out Doug Guthrie this year when Guthrie took a NAPA vacation, bailed out the Mudlarks in relief last year. What does he do for an encore? Take Vic’s place at the mic when Vic the Mic has to go take a pee? Sweep all the trash out of the gym when Luhm is taking a personal day? Fill in at principal when Mr. Dr. Pearl has to be rushed to Milford General for a stroke?

Man, they don’t pay him enough. Unless you count all those veggie sandwiches he devoured from Jay’s Sub’s.

“And we’ll be back to see if Mark Godleski “Is Omnipresent” can work out of this bases-loaded jam after these messages. This is Marty Moon, glad to be back after getting upstaged by a teenager who could use a dab of Oxy-5. You’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

“And folks, I’ve been trying to figure where Mark Godleski’s lineage is from. The obvious choice is Poland but the Milford Genealogical Society informed me while I was stealing Nottingham’s signals that it could be Lithuanian or Latvian. But I don’t speak any Borneo, so it’s all up in the air.

And speaking of up in the clouds, our delivery driver evidently had his head in the clouds because his semi rammed into a utility pole right by the Milford Head Start building and the merchandise spilled all over the street and property and so forth and so on, thank you Jesus. We were fortunate that someone called 9-1-1 before little toddlers could grab a Jose Cuervo and take it back to their classroom. Hey, I bet a teacher was trying to sneak a case of Bud when no one was looking.

Hi, This is Coach Thorp on behalf of Milford Beverage Warehouse and to cover for this boneheaded move, we not only fired the driver, we felt it only right to turn a negative into a postive so this week our ‘Oops, We Crapped The Booze’ campaign is on and with prices slashed that makes you want to crap a load on the commode, our loyal customers like you will be the only ones not getting dumped on.

The Miller High Life miraculously survived the carnage and we want to celebrate its rebirth by knocking off five dollars on a 30-Pak 12-Ounce case. Man o man, I wish I was there with the rest of the skid row bums trying to get in the trailer before the squad car ran ’em off. I would have had beer in my trunk at loss leader prices.

And those senior citizens who actively participate in our ‘Booze is a State of Mind’ program can pursue that bottle of Jack Daniels Slow Aged Torch Distilled Whiskey with a vengeance. It’s not their fault some butthole needed to swing the semi wide to avoid the pole and crapped the goods all over the parking lot. So The Warehouse is knocking off 6 dollars off of this and Jim Beam Milford Valley Created so that our older generation do not have to pay for the driver’s carelessness. Let that dumbass pay his own traffic ticket.

And thank God that same driver didn’t back into the statue of Wink Martindale up front at The Warehouse. Talk about rioting in the streets of Milford. To ensure that the Lord of Game Show Hosts is placed in his proper Perpetual State, if you pose with your bottle of Martini & Rossi or Boone’s Farm Wild Hackberry in front of the man who put the host in game show hosts, doggone, The Warehouse will cut another two dollars off those Hackberry’s that got crapped on some neighbor’s lawn. Thank God this citizen was decent enough to return the cases while he was spraying his grass with Chem-Lawn.

And we are grateful Joe Sharkey said he was not going to pursue a law suit. We had enough problems dealing with this driver’s A License qualifications without getting crapped on ourselves. Having to show crappy booze as Exhibit A before a judge is not a Day in Paradise, believe me. But you don’t have to pay for the driver’s failure to read the eye chart at his reinstatement procedures. Come check out what we still have left from our booze that got crapped out the trailer door and didn’t get sent to the lions and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”

Gang, I emember when FDR said that some Latin American dictator was “a son of a bitch but, by God, he’s OUR son of a bitch.” Couldn’t describe Marty Moon better. God bless you, Gang.”

“Mommy, Daddy said that Grandma crapped a wad. I didn’t know Grandma wore Pampers.”

“Uhhhhhhhhh, here, Keri, here’s a 50. Go down to the store and buy all the eggs you can. We need eggs in the worst way.”

At the accident site

“So HOW did you crash into the pole again, Mr. Thorp?”

“My jock strap was itching bad…”

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