This Week in Milford

February 24, 2018

Goin’ to the Rack With Controlled Assertiveness. Now That’s Milford Basketball.

Filed under: actual action, basketball, huge earrings, Mimi Thorp, shadow figures — tdrewhardin @ 4:20 am



And Mimi, as billytheskink has insinuated, comes out of retirement to return the Mudlarks to the Glory Days!!! We can only hope that the Lady Mudlarks will build on this victory and personally bettin’ they can when Paloma is not engineering Sit-Down-Protest-of-the-Week. And, baby baby, I like her moves to the bucket. She’s got some Cheryl Miller in her. Never mind that a couple of Goshenites appear to have left their seeing-eye dogs in the locker room but we gotta start somewhere. So one Goshenite is completely out of position because her defensive stance is 180 degrees (give or take a few degrees) away from the person she was intending to guard (Paloma, for those of you keeping score). That’s Goshen’s problem. Since when do we educate our opponent on the proper technique especially if we’re just reading the strip and enjoy, along with our fellow Milfordites, the Christians getting fed to the lions, not to mention getting dunked on? Berrill, for eons, promoted Bacchanalian feasts of opponents being fodder for the bloodthirsty Mudlarks. Besides, Paloma got game.

Gee, if we can only stash this 2-out-of-3 basketball concept in a bottle and save it for later when Marty Moon gets nasty as I promise you he will because a few naive teenagers didn’t understand not to wake up a dormant snake. Don’t let him slither out of his snake hole at WDIG studios. And with Mr. Anonymous Calculus Dude who Moonlights as an Ad Salesman for the Station aiding and abetting in the crime, this could get ugly. You know it’s a bad omen when the Anonymous People are seen more than once.

“Hey, Marty, you forgot to flush the toilet again.”

“Sorry, Anonymous Calculus Dude. Hey, since you’re still in the strip, can I count on you for some mudslinging when I broadcast the Milford Girls Basketball game with New Thayer this Friday?”

“Sure. My wedding with Mrs. Anonymous Calculus Dudette is this Sunday and the rehearsal is on Saturday and I haven’t been written out of the script yet, so Fridays are free.”

“Super!!!!!!!! Here’s that ‘2000 More Insults’ I ordered from the Milford Book-of-the-Month Club. Pore it over and I want at least a hefty Manila folder of material a half hour before the tip.”

“Will do. BTW, I bought some Lysol and placed it on the commode lid.”

Well, anyway, we got a fist bump from Mimi. Maybe that’ll slow The Snake to a crawl. Fist bumps have a way of turning the tide in Thorpiverse. And the plot might get interesting. Wouldn’t that be something.

If ya buy a jalopy straight outta the Estado de Chihuahua and ya fix it up with dual exhausts, fix all the points and plugs, stick a 409 in it, purchase some expensive mags, instead of plain ol’ Bridgestones, with money you don’t have, then, as a coup-de-grace, proudly display yore Confederate flag decal on the front bumper at the Milford Car Show, ya might be a redneck.

If ya use the same tractor to haul illegals under the tarp of a trailer across the border as the one competin’ in the Milford Major-Modified Tractor Pull later that night, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s Black History Month entry is a long personal favorite of mine, Roberta Flack. She is the first, and still the only, solo artist to win Grammy Record of the Year 2 years in a row, “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” and “Killing Me Softly With His Song”. She has 3 #1 hits, the 2 just mentioned plus “Feel Like Makin’ Love”. She has gone on to do several collaborations with Donny Hathaway including “Where is the Love”. Robert Christgau, a well-respected critic, was not terribly kind in his remarks on her, basically saying she was essentially a Light Favorites fixture. I vehemently disagree as I have found her music to exhibit the complexity, depth, and soul needed to create beautiful music and still have a listening audience. Even those not a fan of her music will admit she has a shrewd ear for melody that keeps us coming back for more. Please spread the word about a very beautiful lady and another one VERY dear to my heart.

Gang, I’m bumping your fist because you’re the tops. Let’s see if we can get the Milford contingent to focus on BASKETBALL for once.


February 20, 2018

She’s So Hiigghhhhh, High Above Me, She’s So Lovely, She’s So…

Filed under: basketball, Coach Kaz — tdrewhardin @ 4:47 am



“The Dove hit the ground again. We’ll have to do another take, Gary.”

“Daggone it!!!!!!!!! Can anybody around here make wings that’ll actualy fly??? Go see if she’s OK.”

“Oh, we got plenty of padding. The Mudlark wrestling team is at a tournament in West Falls this weekend so we’re using all their mats. She should be fine.”

Well, ya gotta have Plan B. What if Uncle Gary WON the standoff with Rick’s dad??? Naturally, in the Thorpiverse, the script calls for Snidely Whiplash to hit the road, Jack, after Sniddles has dragged everybody through the mud, including the readers, for God-only-knows-how-many endless, pointless months. And the script proved correct. BUT, in coaching sports, I learned to expect the unexpected. I had the reserve script ready.

Wow, gang, you know the doggie doo is hitting the fan when our leading characters for this plot metamorphose into silhouettes. Sure-fire indicator the plot is thickening. Fireside chats are usually drawn out, pimples and all. Hitchcock Theater couldn’t mastermind this any better. I don’t think ANYBODY is really fixated on Mr. T and his teammates headin’ to the jump circle for the opening tip though I will never understand why objects further away from the matter on the present table are clearly drawn out but the price you pay if you want the Nielsen Ratings to remain strong which, I reckon, is how Hitchcock went from a draftsman at Milford High to hosting his own show. Horatio Alger couldn’t rise to the top any better. Anyway, let’s peep in on the conversation

“…like Cleopatra, Mimi Thorp, or Aphrodite/ do do, DO, DO…”

Oops, I got MTV by mistake. Let’s try this again

“Hey, Mr. T got a haircut!!!!! I like it!!!”

“Yeah, he says the Mohawk was getting in his face. Got tired of brushing it away and hair getting tangled up in his earrings.”

“And he can find his way to the jump circle!!!!!! Well, anyway, you tell that no-good slime of a broadcaster, ol’ DIGGY-poo, that you got your pride, Federico.”

“Fine. Now if you don’t mind, Coach Kaz is throwing down his Le Tigre jacket. I think I better strap on my Game Face.”

“Hey, did they move the basketball goal again?”

“Yeah, there was a water leak by the 3-point line and the Milford Sewer Department had to rope off the area. Paloma, PUH-LEASE, it’s showtime.”

P3 courtside perspective was undoubtedly the inspiration for “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”(basketball goal practically straight down the hallway?). Unless the Milford bench is situated at the half court line. Checking into the game oughta be fun. Heck, you’re already on the court. Why bother with the scorekeeping official. Still, you got your choice here, gang, although I’ll gladly accept write-in votes.

“She bitches endlessly/She cussed and railed at me

Unfurled my masculinity

I hope that I can check in and tune her out when I’m on the court

She can get on your nerves and annoy you like a 3-day wart, a wart, A WART


If yore name has a Spanish flavor to it and consequently, while being listed on the roster, takes up 1/3 of the program with all the “del’s” and “de la’s” but the play-by-play announcer still just calls ya “Bubba” when calling the game, ya might be a redneck.

“…like Cleopatra, Krusty’s niece, or Aphrodite/do do DO DO…”

Heard on the radio while driving on the Milford Turnpike

“And that ends the 3rd quarter as Milford has put on an 8-2 run, courtesy of a couple of Bubba Padilla putbacks, to extend the lead to 15, and after 3, it’s Milford, 57, and Oakwood, 42. We’ll be right back after this commercial break. You’re listening to exciting Mudlark Basketball on WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

“Here’s what Coach Shaw had to say about our clinic:

‘My doctor told me there was nothing I could do about my erectile dysfunction. I told my wife and she was supportive but deep down I knew she was disappointed. I felt less of a man. I was embarrassed!!!!!! And the players on the football team, after practice was over, would ask me if I was OK. I guess I looked pretty bummed out. But what do you tell a 16-year-old linebacker? The truth? Then I saw the Milford Men’s Clinic across the mall while I was slurping my raspberry yogurt in a booth at Orange Julius. I decided to give it a try. What did I have to lose but my sex life? I could still cameo from season to season depending on where Gil needed me, if nothing else. I’m glad I walked in. Now my wife and I have restored our intimacy. I have eliminated my ED and have been restored back in good standing at the Milford Holiday Inn.’

Thousands upon thousands have engaged in the plan and have recovered their dignity as well as their desire. If Coach Shaw can walk out a new macho stud, you can too!!!!!!!!! Call today!!!!!!!! 1-800-SEX-GOOD or you can stop by our clinic in the Milford Mall and set up a free consultation. You can also visit us online at You have nothing to lose but a whole more to gain!!!!!”

Today’s Black History Month person is Ronnie Mack. He was a songwriter and producer back in the early ’60’s. He somewhat paralleled Eddie Rabbitt as both were talented but wet-behind-the ears musicians and songwriters. Ronnie wrote “Puppy Love”(although not the Paul Anka version, the more popular one) while Eddie wrote “Kentucky Rain”, both sold for a song and a dance, the latter bought, loosely speaking, from Colonel Tom Parker(DON’T get me started on Parker’s ruthlessness) for Elvis to sing. Both Ronnie and Eddie got wise to the game, Eddie having a productive career with songs like “I Love a Rainy Night”, “Drivin’ My Life Away”, and “Every Which Way But Loose”. Ronnie went on to produce and write songs for The Chiffons, including the smash hit “He’s So Fine” and also wrote songs for The Tokens who had earlier fame with “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. Tragically, Ronnie died of cancer in 1963 and a VERY productive career was cruelly cut short. The songwriting team of Lamont Dozier, Eddie Holland, and Brian Holland, Motown heavyweights in the ’60’s with hits such as “Stop! In the Name of Love”, wrote a song about Ronnie, entitled “Jimmy Mack”, performed by Martha and The Vandellas. Oh, Jimmy Mack, when are you comin’ back indeed. Please spread the word about a man who deserved more and is VERY dear to my heart.

Gang, it’s your turn. Got any questions or comments, I’ll be on the other end, away from The Dove. I get a sick gut feeling she has more on her plate with a one Marty Moon.

February 13, 2018

This Plot Is Stupid But It Sure Is Fun

Filed under: Boredom in Milford, Fontastic, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 4:07 am


Sometime in Winter 1998

“…Jalen into the Big Fella. He’s got a Double team. Kicks it back out to Padilla. 10 on the shot clock. Padilla into D Squared. Nothing doing. 6 on the shot clock. Skip pass to Jackson. 3 on the shot clock. Jackson cross-court pass to Padilla. GEORGIE FOR 33333333333…”                              “BOOM BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”                                What coulda been. And to think I am getting more basketball in my memory, courtesy Mark Boyle and Slick Leonard, than I am from The Dove who is, as I believe one of our writers mentioned the other day, is basketball’s version of Dafne Dafonte, or affectionately operating under her sobriquet, Daffy Duck.

Dove, how can I put this? Hmmmm, well, y’know, I think it kinda sorta goes like this, y’see, if you weren’t under the bleachers fomenting a rebellion in the name of Chairman Mao, Cesar Chavez, Ho Chi Minh, Groucho Marx(oops, wrong Marx family), Abraham Lincoln, Curt Flood, Buzz Sawyer(I guess comic strip characters form unions too), yada, yada, yada, you might be able to locate the broadcast booth, the one with a microphone on the table, and, granted, it would take a little doing as it would be semi-tough to squeeze your protest in while Mr. Moon, or your favorite local broadcaster(one is alloted in every town by dint of the basketball gods’ distribution plan-from each according to a town’s basketball roster to each according to the size of the crowd, as long as Marxism is creeping in among us) but they do eventually take a break(commercials factor into the equation) so feel free to notify Mr. Moon at the first commercial advertising Milford Heating and Cooling. And what is the deal sending SOMEBODY ELSE to make the correction? Are there more out in the hallway just as upset and itchin’ for a scrap? Are they sharing a Sanka with Mr. Anonymous Calculus Dude from yesterday in the WDIG break lounge? Is the break lounge just as posh as WDIG’s digs?

Heard on somebody’s radio as a driver is going to work, third shift at the local factory

“…the Big Fella finds an open Whore-Hay FOR 333333333333!!!!!!!!!!!!!…”                      “BOOM BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!”                                       “THAT’S JORGE, YOU IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S TWICE NOW!!!!!!!! GET IT CORRECTLY  OR I’M SUING!!!!!!!!!!”          And telling Milford’s version of J. R. Ewing where to drill for oil around rural Mudlarkland? Good luck with that. You might as well tell Jesse James where to shoot his brother when Jorge(don’t have a cow, Man) is staring down the barrel of a Colt 45. You DID notice the Falcon Crest surroundings, Karina and Duncan, no?

“…re-vo-LUT-ion, weeellll, ya know, we all do with what we cannnnn                                       But if ya have pictures of Anonymous Calculus Guuuuyyyyyyyyy                                  All I can tell you is, Brother, to just stand by                                                                   Cuz ya know it’s gonna be ALL RIGHT…”

Since the plot is once again in neutral with the engine running, a quick shout-out to the Austin, Indiana Fuel Mart who keep my humor going and got some great food in the bargain. You brighten a lot of people’s day.                                                         And since there’s no basketball on the horizon today, I will salvage today’s strip with another song, and believe me, I tried to resist, but you know us Todd Rundgren fans. Gotta strike while the opportunity arises. Sung to “We Gotta Get You a Woman”


Jorge, boy, is that you?

I’m glad your Nerfhoop days are through

Slam dunk things that block your view

Do it all

With the ball

There’s only thing left they gotta  dooo

It’ll help the Mudlarks to pull throughhhh



We gotta make you a starter

It’s like nothing else for ailing plots to keep it aliiivvvveeeee

We gotta make you a starter

You better report in

You’re wasting time snortin’



Talking ’bout staaannndding at the free throw line(wah wah oooooo)

2 shots with everything on the line(wah wah oooooo)

Sink both of them and you’ll be fine

And Milford will be primed to get this thing together(get this thing together)


We gotta make you a starter, etc.

And when the day is through

Game ball goes to youuuuu.


Today’s Black History Month person is Mary Fields or affectionately known as Stagecoach Mary. She delivered mail for several years, under contract with the United States Postal Service, to central Montana during the late 1800’s. She NEVER missed a delivery and we’re talking even in the winter when Montana, as I’m sure our readers know, gets tons of snow. She was instrumental in the development of the state(Montana admitted to the Union in 1889) as without her services, the growing pains of early Montana would have been that much more severe. VERY handy with a rifle. Nobody dared ambush her as she was like Annie Oakley, peaceful but knew how to shoot, if necessary. Please, where you can, spread the word about another historical figure dear to my heart. Thanks for reading.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’m going to sneak out the back entrance of WDIG. I’d rather not get run over in the coup d’etat.

February 6, 2018

A B.L.T., Hold the Mayo, an Order of Onion Rings, and Thou Beside Me Discussing Roe vs. Wade at The Bucket…

Filed under: Boredom in Milford, song parody — tdrewhardin @ 3:16 am


HAHAHA, oh, excuse me, let me get up off the floor, I was rollin’ in the aisles over the funny that ol’ Jorge Leghorn just uttered. Well, he’s got a southern accent, doesn’t he? And now the truth is out. Foghorn swam over the Rio Grande at night to seek the Land of Opportunity. If you look under one of his feathers, you’ll see his Green Card. Anyway, don’t you think that was a real knee-slapper?

And, all right, all right, they were in the cafeteria, not The Bucket(I can hear the cavalry coming) but if you’re going to wax poetic, it sounds better than “…an order of tater tots, lotsa ketchup, and thou beside me in the “B” gym by the basketball rack.”

I’ve seen sibling rivalries in my lifetime(I have a sister, I should know) but this one takes the cake. Are we going to be subjected to a Vladimir Ilyich Lenin vs Dr. J debate in the next couple of months(a conservative, I say, conservative estimate)? Man, Lenin might have stirred the revolution but his jumper left a little to be desired. Oh, that’ll be fodder at the local bar rooms. I pity the poor bouncer having to throw out the guy who got violently drunk while simultaneously defending Leon Trotsky’s ERA(“He needs a slider to go with his fastball and curve” “But he liberated the proletariat from the bourgeoisie!!!!!!!!”).  It makes me wonder if we’ll have time for basketball. Then again, I think I answered my own question. And I’d suggest a couple of freeze frames of basketball “action” to speed up the season while Plato and Socrates hash it out BUT we have both the boys teams and the girls teams to cram into the season, belated at that, 3 panels at a time. I hope Thorpiverse never does funeral pre-planning this way.

Soooooooo, leaving the quandary to some other schmuck with no life, I have another Zappa tune to close things out. Okay, kiddies, sing along, to the tune of “Bobby Brown”

Hey there, people, I’m Jorge Brown

Marty says I’m the highest-jumping boy in town

My shooting’s good

My rebounding’s shiny

I just told La Junta they can kiss my hiney

Oh God, I am the American Dream

I make the Milford cheerleaders want to scream

On defense, I’m a son of a bitch

I’m going to the NBA and get real rich

“… oh God, oh God, I’m so fantastic

Thanks to flubber, I’m a jumpin’ spastic…”

Because it’s Black History Month, I will talk about one African-American per week that is dear to my heart. Today, please, where you can, spread the word about Cowboy Bill Pickett. He was noted for bulldogging, a technique where he grabbed a steer by the horns and wrestled it to the ground by biting its lips. Worked EVERY time. He also, working for 101 Ranch Wild West Show, helped the show win a bet by hanging onto a bull in a bullfighting ring in Mexico City, the classless fans throwing bottles, trash, God knows what else, FOR 37 MINUTES when the bet only called for 15 minutes. He lead the charge for all the Black cowboys, the latter of whom represented 1/10 of the cowboy population in the 1800’s-early 1900’s. The man saw himself as just another cowboy. Which is why I promote him even more.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’m climbing out of the ring. The tag is made. Apply the sleeper hold on the Padillas with a vengeance.

January 30, 2018

“All I Said to the Ref Was ‘Don’t Space the Floor’. And He Blows a T!!!!!!! Yeah, Right, Whatever.”

Filed under: actual action, basketball, big arms, freak hands, Gil Thorp, Highlight reel — tdrewhardin @ 2:42 am


This is getting already getting off on the wrong foot. Okay, she undoubtedly has a temper which eventually warranted the technical. You watch the other team shoot the technical(s). You move on.

But I find it hard to believe, as I pointed out yesterday, that a cabal of referees are in some smoke-filled room in a warehouse somewhere, the same one that used to be The Riddler’s hideout, discussing ways to stick it to players from a certain country. Sure, they’re watching game film analyzing mechanics and procedures when it comes to skewering all players from Yemen. That way, the refs’ll be ready to screw up a Yemeni’s post play by calling 3 seconds the first time the poor schmuck sticks his toe in the lane. And did I mention the handouts that were published discussing ways to call all fouls on Bulgarians but none on the Latvians? Unless there’s blood. Don’t let the game get out of control.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Anybody who has played ANY level of basketball, from Joe Schlabotnik to Wilt Chamberlain, from sandlot courts to Y Leagues to Church Leagues to High School Basketball to Industrial League on Thursday night at the elementary school gymnasium to North Carolina/Duke rivalry to the NBA knows THE TOP OF THE KEY IS NOT 3 FEET FROM THE BASKET!!!!!!!!!!!!! No wonder why Aardvark is having a career night.

And when running the break, as I’m presuming is developing in P3, the Pony Express-U. S. Marshal Convoy method is really not going to lead to a lot of easy buckets, even with the hapless Mudlark trailing them. The mail might get rejected in the 5th row.

Okay, that out of the way, as promised, I have a song, sung to the tune of Frank Zappa’s “Valley Girl” that confronts a pouty female who really has nobody to blame but herself.

She’s a Valley Girl, She’s a Valley Girl Okay, fine                                                           Fer sure, fer sure                                               She’s a Valley Girl, so sweet & pure


My coach was, like, freaking me out!!!!          She, I’m sorry, dresses like Ellen DeGeneres, gnarly, gnarly.                             Oh, well, at least she didn’t buy her clothes at the Milford Kmart, I’m like, Goodwill City, y’know.                                    And then there’s the ref, we’re talking Lord God King dripster.                                  He, like, not only can’t call a game but picks his nose during a time-out–and slobbers on his whistle!!!!!!!!!!!!!                   Gag me, gag me, puh-LEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!


Downtown Milford, there she goes            She just bought some new gym clothes    Tosses free throws                                           And flips the ref.                                        She’s got a whole lot of nothing left


Like, Oh my God, there’s The Bucket.         Their patty melts are so AWE-some!!!!!!!!! But the counter guy suggested lobster claws. Oh, I’m so sure, no way I’d EVER touch an insect, let alone eat that piece of rubber. Do they want me to throw up before the game? Gag me with a Spalding basketball!!!!!!!!!!!!


Last idea to cross her mind                            Had something to do with where to find     A pair of shorts                                               to fit her butt                                               And jogging track to slim her gut


I mean, New Thayer is so bitchin’ and then there’s, like, the Oakwood Galleria and, like, all these really great shoe stores!!! There’s beaucoup of them in the San Gilberto Valley. I used Daddy-O’s Gold Visa Card to buy a pair of, like, Air Jordans, I mean, those Nikes are SO AWESOME!!!!!!!


She’s a Valley Girl on the hardwood floor  OK, fine                                                           She’ll score some more                                  Mudlarks rule                                                   They’ll win the war


Anyway, he goes, do you wanna play for the Ironwood Ingots? Oh, yeah, right, could you, like, just picture me sitting in, like, a photograph with a buncha slimy girls with icky B. O. and no teeth??? The coach hadn’t used a razor in 3 days??? Hurt me, hurt me, just don’t kiss me. I’m so suuurrreee. No way!!!!!!!!! And I heard they inbreed!!!!!!!!! Maximum groty!!!!!!!!!!! YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

She’s a Valley Girl                                             She’s a Valley Girl…


Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Local Teen Wins Harassment Suit Against O. J.!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Judge Ito: ‘I definitely saw a pattern trending towards Puerto Ricans, gloves or no gloves.’ ”

“Cochran: ‘My client will never get a fair shake in this town. This whole Mudlurkian system was rigged from the get-go.’ ”


Gang, you may fire when ready. You guys make it happen.

January 29, 2018

Some of my best friends live in San Juan.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 3:59 pm

And eat 3-cheese pizza at the corner Pizza Hut while scoping the Caribbean.

Sorry, gang, I don’t know what overcame me. Trying to sort through the possible alibis for Mr. Clean the Referee should The Dove file a grievance with the respective state athletic association(maybe Milford’s near New York-Gotham City High School Athletic Association?-is Commissioner Gordon in charge?-“Batman, The Joker’s up to his old tricks again. He’s charged into his opponent while driving for the lay-up 3 times.””Right away, Commissioner.”) is not all fun and games.

And, based upon P1, I think you guys’ll love tomorrow’s blog. Stay tuned.

Be that as it may, while trying to guess whether she’s reading Louis L’Amour(“Pancho Villa Rides out of Milford”) or “The Leatherstocking Tales” but eliminating “Best of Penthouse” as an early exit, The Dove has made up her mind that the Local Chapter of Referees #808 did some reconnoitering and timed her arrival to the US because she was projected to be Hell on the court based upon unconfirmed reports concerning her intramural basketball record in her native Commonwealth. They were waiting in ambush. And you thought we weren’t ready for Pearl Harbor.

“Sis, what makes you think they’re out to get me?”

Suddenly, the sky turns black and you can hear TORA!!!!!!!!!! TORA!!!!!!!!!!!! TORA!!!!!!!!!!!!

At least Aardvark is back to his old bag of tricks and, Lordy, Lordy, if we could just freeze that moment, sanity would be restored.

But I think we all know better. Jorge will be ejected from the game because he forgot to take an evergreen breath mint and knocked a La Junta player to the floor with his Puerto Rican breath.

And The Dove couldn’t cop out since La Junta could conceivably be a Puerto Rican town. Jorge would lose his case. Refs won’t sift through the bodies on this one when it’s hard to tell which is which, assuming La Junta sailed the Atlantic for a B-ball contest with the Mudlarks.

Gang, the stage is yours. And Ned, My Man, again, I’m thinking of you.

January 23, 2018

BOOM, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 4:03 am


Legendary coach and announcer, Bobby “Slick” Leonard addressed(and still does) every 3 from an Indiana Pacer(especially when Reggie Miller used to bury ’em) with that familiar phrase and what a way to shake the basketball season out of its slump(and a basketball in ALL 3 PANELS, now THAT’S something to show the grandkids when you get older) than with an electrifying SWISHHHHH of things to come(thinking positive).

I want to thank everybody for adding me to the staff, especially you readers who got me here. I most definitely live by Consent of the Governed and am humbled and honored to do what I love, writing comedy. It’s a blast to always keep learning.

A couple of ground rules, please. First, I know a lot of people have strong views which I have NO PROBLEM with tolerating and actually encouraging. It’s what makes America. But a pet peeve of mine is when the Liberal/Conservative insists on making this blog a forum for his/her personal views which, again, I tolerate for a while until it becomes a 24/7  in the commentary. As a Christian, I may speak my religion but I never preach. I would ask the same courtesy from everybody else. Keep in mind, this is a comedy blog, not “Crossfire”.

Also, as far as profanity goes, hey, gang, we’re all big boys & girls. I can honestly say I’ve not had a problem from ANYONE in terms of potty mouths and I have found this site(and well it should) to be a VERY lenient one when it comes to expressing ideas, especially in a humorous vein. My policy is that if something is of questionable taste, I ask myself, IS IT FUNNY? A good rule of thumb(for me anyway) is The Simpsons. They have skirted the edge for ages but more often than not, IT’S FUNNY. As my dad has taught me, if you have to resort to solely  dirty jokes to be funny, you need to get off stage. Please don’t make me draw a line in the sand SOMEWHERE because I will eventually. Duke Ellington, one of my idols, after many years of tolerating Sonny Greer’s drinking, finally had to can him even though Sonny could play the drums, and he could play, believe me. It KILLED Duke to do it. That would be me, gang.

Otherwise, I am, as timbuys mentioned, taking over the Tuesday slot and thrilled to do it. Let’s make some beautiful music together, gang.

I never get tired of watching Milford browbeat an opponent who evidently is outclassed and Milford, no matter the sport, looks svelte and agile, while the opponent looks like they need a AAA Road Atlas to the goal. P2 is a prime example. Yup, the Lady Mudlarks, fresh off a Richard Simmons video, whip that basketball around in submission while the West Falls player appears to have bought one jalapeño bratwurst too many from the concession stand. And P3 IS THE EXCLAMATION POINT, BABY!!!!!!!!!!! TAKE THAT, West Falls!!!!!!!! Next time, eat a veggie burger!!!!!!!!!!!!

And where is West Falls? Undoubtedly a Brigadoon that will take the busses right back in the woods and disappear, after the season ends(“Where’d that Greyhound go? It was here a minute ago.”) Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re in Thorpiverse, you know. And what’s their nickname? We are left hanging to the possibilities. West Falls Wing Nuts, West Falls Wahoos, West Falls Wyandottes(hey, the Indians settled in Brigadoon too). That must have been a bone of contention at the Town Council meeting.

“Ain’t no way I’m gonna spend my taxes so that my daughter winds up being a Wahoo!!!!!! We have scholarships on the line!!!!!!!!!!!!”



“Okay, all those in favor of Wing Nuts, say ‘aye’.”


“All opposed.”


“Motion carries. Okay, next, we have an issue to discuss concerning the sewer lines and we’ve had a couple of bids…”

Parliamentary procedure at its finest.


“OKAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY, LADY MUDKARKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET’S GET THOSE JOINTS LIMBERED UP AND THE BLOOD PUMPINGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE DON’T WANNA LET VALLEY TECH OUTRUN YOU ON YOUR OWN FLOOORRRRRR, NOW, DO WE???????? LET’S HIT IT, LADIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! As Richard plays “She Works Hard for the Money” at 78RPM, the Lady Mudlarks kick the flab right off those thighs and run in place the belly flab back into Brigadoon with the Wahoos/Wing Nuts/Pick ’em.

Gang, it’s your turn. Fire away.

January 18, 2018

“They Actually Asked Me if I Wanted a Hot Apple Pie With My Order.”


Dad, if you’re reading this, thanks for egging me on. I was scared clueless but you always navigate the storms with the best of them. Love you, Big Guy.

Not that my mom (happy birthday, yesterday, Mom) and my sister didn’t figure into things. They certainly gave me incentive to pull this one off. Love you too.

This is the Dean Koontz novel that was never published, stored under his high school yearbooks in the attic. You know, Ernest P. Worrell’s thought process arose from the grave of anonymous cemetery somewhere in Nashville, leaving the body of the aforementioned to rot eternally in the ground (“Ernest P. Worrell burns in Hell along with Carrie White”) and assumed the body of Frito Bandito through the means of telekinesis. His sister, spending more time absorbing culture shock at The Bucket than developing her postup skills (they do have gymnasiums available in case you change your mind), was worried sick about him since one day, while taking her home from school, he said to her “Yo quiero Taco Bell. Tengo mucho hambre. Ya wanna go in the dining area or the drive-thru, Vern? Do ya think my F-150 with them mud-caked monster wheels will clear the bar?”

In P1, Ward Cleaver is having one of those heart-to-heart talks every father has with his son. Here was the gist of the warm words doled out “Beaver, I already have Eddie Haskell at the point and Lumpy Rutherford will play the 2 guard while Lurch will anchor things down low. But don’t worry, if Eddie or Lumpy are caught not hustling, you’re comin’ off the bench.”

And you’re not fooling me, Thorpiverse. Gil and Jorge missed the ferry across the river Styx to Hades, Charon running behind, although said mythological figure managed to transport Ernest P. and Carrie in a reasonable amount of time. So Gil and Jorge are returning from the Shadow of Death. Perhaps another time.

In P3, it gets about as ridiculous as you can imagine. Many countries, Third World countries included, have been bitten by the Americana bug and are liberally sprinkled with McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut, Wal-Mart, etc. Maybe 30-40 years ago, America was kept at a distance but now I have yet to read an article in the paper discussing some Third World dictator executing political prisoners on the charges of devouring one Big Mac too many. And what makes it worse, Puerto Rico is a Commonwealth of the U. S. Not that I approve of what’s going on (I don’t) but Puerto Rico has also arguably been one of the forerunners of soaking in American culture.

Oooook, so that said, if ya git Church’s Fried Chicken 3-Piece (2 breasts, 1 wing) Extra-Greasy Combo with mashed potatas ‘n’ okra, both stuffed in them microscopic styrofoam cups and ya have a bunch of ’em stored in 5 feet x 5 feet crates shipped from the ports of San Juan straight to a space in yore garage next to the power riding mower, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“UFO Spotted in the Milford Gymnasium!!!!!!”

“Officials Later Confirmed That Someone Was Practicing His 3-Point Shooting.”

Yesterday’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“Gil Claims to Have Seen Elvis!!!!!!!!!!”

“I Told Him I Needed A Note From His Parents and His Physical Had to Be Turned in by Friday.”

Gang, you’ve been super all week. The comments were electric and I wish I could address ’em all because they were FUNNY and/or THOUGHT-PROVOKING. It’s your turn, Ladies & Gentlemen. What’s on your mind?


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