This Week in Milford

September 24, 2020

Fat Chance We’re Avoiding The Sequel.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 7:59 am

Gang, I’m going to retell a story I told before on this site because I feel it is apropos in relation to the present scheme of things

George Jetson, after picking up Elroy from football practice and a third option at quarterback in case the other two QB options kill each other on the streets of Milford in a Samurai competition, finally at the computer

“Mr. Computer, I have to know, are we ever going to have a decent plot? Because I’m tired of hearing Elroy complain about Coach Thorp leaving practice early so that he and Mr. Spacely can sneak in a round of golf at the country club on the planet Saturn.”

“The prrrrroooobbbbbaaabbbbility weiigggghhhhhsssss threeeeeeee thhhhhhoouuusssssaaaannnddd, fivvvvvvveeeeee hundddddreeeeddddd andddddddddd siiixxxxxttyyyyyyyyy-fffffffooouuuurrrrrrrrrrr pppppooooooouuuuuunnnnnnnnddddddsssssss.”

“Now don’t go Dr. Pearl on me. What’s that got to do with Coach Thorp settling the issue and proclaiming to the masses he’s actually going to coach this year?”

“Ffffffaaaaaaattttttttt cccccccccchhhhhaaaaannnnnccccceeeeee.”

Thorpiverse veterans are inured to Marty’s digs at Coach T which usually serve as a precursor to how part of the plot anyway is going to shake out. If you can translate Moonspeak, the soliloquy in P1 would read

“And Charlie Roh on a long gain. The refs are running out of breath moving the chains. And Thayer on a keeper for another 10. But I don’t see Chance Macy. Did Coach Thorp make him sit in the locker room again? Well, if you sit on the bench that way, nobody’s looking. Or did Coach T send him on another errand? These Go-fer chores are getting old. One week Chance goes to the store to get milk and eggs for Mimi and today he goes to the drug store for a pack of smokes. Just last week Chance had to go get the Chicken Ravioli Pit Plate for Coach T and Maureen couldn’t change the 50 that Coach gave Macy. Is Chance just going to sit on his ass the entire game? He must have jock itch bad the way he’s been scratching himself all over creation. And who’s that girl he’s with? He’ll get some respect somewhere, I reckon. Oh, that’s his mom or grandmom or guardian, I can’t remember, Chet burned the files.”

So I can say with an air of confidence that Chance, not Heather Burns, will be recycled in the Year of the Roh. And we have Bobblehead Moon to thank for that.

Gang, The verdict and the surrounding circumstances concerning Breonna Taylor has left me too upset to comment. But I can say that in order to fulfill my desire to do my part to combat racism, please spread the word about The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Duran Duran, REM, The Police, Johnny Winter, Edgar Winter, Eric Clapton, and U2 who have done SOMETHING to deal with the injustices concerning African-American musicians. Because Black Lives Matter, I am personally outraged that Arthur Crudup wound up a barge worker after writing “That’s All Right, Mama” which Elvis made famous. Sadly, he’s not the only one. But these people listed above did SOMETHING to overcome injustices such as these. I am not asking you to buy their records. I am asking you to spread what they have done to make Black Lives Better. Because they have.

One other thing. Please register to vote. Democracy needs you.

And who the heck is complaining about Chance Macy NOW???? Why would you bring his name up with an air of controversy unless someone has his Haggar slacks stuck up his butthole over his playing and we know it can’t be Chet Ballard? Are Fred and Barney in the stands bitching because Pebbles and Bam Bam aren’t getting enough touches? What are we going to do, make a “Leave it to Beaver” episode out of this one?

“Awwwwww, I can outrun Chance Macy ten times better than him. That creep couldn’t go faster than a snail.”

“Geez, Beaver, you don’t have to be a lunk-headed dope over it. I’m sure Coach Thorp, when he returns from the Port-o-Pot, will put you back in the game.”

“Wally’s right, Beaver. I’m sure Coach Thorp will get his bouffant out of his rear end and smell the Folger’s. Why, you’re just as good as going in on 3rd and long.”

“And Ward, I heard Coach Thorp tell Coach Kaz he was thinking of moving Beaver to the kicking team. He said he liked the way Beaver blocked. Said he was good at tripping the defensive end when the ref wasn’t looking.”

I hope there’s no sequel to THAT should the episode get released.

Anyway, we are likely to see poor surrogates to Chet Ballard if Thorpiverse decides to propel Chance through Comic Strip Hell again. Really, I just can’t see Bill Cosby digging through Dr. Pearl’s records in her office after he pried the lock on the door just so his son can get more PT than Chance. Just sayin’.

Gang, you know I love to cook. So when I saw this article on dumplings

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“The Bucket Obtaining Last Shipment Of Pierogis From Poland Today!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Owner:’We’ll slip it in The Bucket Foot-Long Subs and see if anybody notices. We can save a bundle on buying cucumbers and green peppers.”


Man, I don’t know if my heart can take this. Football action!!!!!!!!!!! As in something we can freeze-frame and stick in the time capsule and bury next to the marigolds in the International Peace Garden in front of Milford Court House.

And commentary that’s on-point and concise. No digressions. No Chance’s charges getting coerced in the paddy wagon because Chet Ballard pulled a Eugene McCarthy on them (“Gil, Mr. Macy used to read The Red Book in the corner booth? He must have had it under his newspaper he got out of the stand in front of The Bucket.”) .That’s right, the next time you see this rogue that looks like Bluto’s cousin in a phone booth looking like he’s whispering something into the receiver, he’s not calling his bookie betting on the Cubs (gotcha, Robmize-ha ha). Mr. Macy better watch his backside. And read safer publications like Grit.

No immature teenagers initiating a flailing attempt at re-enacting The French and Indian War where Frick might get all of Quebec and a concordat with Tecumseh if Frack agrees to Vincennes. And they split the quarterback duties after the treaty gets signed at Tippicanoe with Mad Anthony Wayne proctoring the proceedings.

Charlie “Ruh” Roh (love it , Teenchy!!!!!!!) actually getting yardage and not getting sidetracked by Gil’s baggage or Chet’s baggage or Corina’s baggage or Bugs Bunny’s baggage or Elmer Fudd’s baggage. Don’t you think it got maddening when Roh would hit a hole for a no-brainer touchdown only to get met at the end zone by Corina who’s staging a hissy fit because her mom threw her possessions out on the street again and told CK to go back to Milford and this time it’s final. Couldn’t throw a flag for interference.

Savor the moment, Gang. We might be encountering some more individuals on the shrink’s couch before too long.

“Mr. Thorp, why do you spend more time at the golf course than at the football field?”

“Doc, I remember when my dad took me to The Masters when I was 3 years old. I was hooked. It’s been an obsession ever since.”

Gang, LMAO at Jim Carrey’s imitation of Wile E. Coyote. He puts a harmonica in his mouth and jumps up and down, breathing in and out of the harmonica (trying to resemble a giant accordion, in other words)

“Why is Coach Thorp playing a Jew’s harp coming out of the Port-o-Pot? No wonder why there’s a QB controversy.”

“The rumor I heard was the facility got bombed by a giant pirogie that Warsaw launched.”

And the football action in P2 won but like any good coach knows, there’s still some things to clean up. Granted, the Oakwood defense dude is doing the only thing he can do, given the circumstances. And Macy is doing what any normal running back would do if he was carrying a football and he intends to score a TD. The handshake with that Oakwood defense dude will come AFTER the game. Even Thorpiverse knows that.

But WHAT THE HECK IS #22 DOING????? Did he just plop out of the Oreo skyline and decide he better do some blocking after all? I suppose after he’s performed his blocking assignment with the white-tail deer, he’ll come over and mop up. Chance could always use the extra yardage even if #22 has to utilize a cotangent angle to execute mop-up duties.

AND WHAT IS THAT LINE DOING ON THE FIELD????? I’m aware that we need to stay within the boundaries but Puh-leasssee, nobody runs on a football field crossing the Union Pacific track. I’d hate to see short yardage situations. 4th-and-1? Better make sure the train signals aren’t flashing.

At the Thorp verandah for the Fall get-together with family and friends

“Have you tried the Gyoza noodle salad yet? Gil had a bowl with a couple of White Castle burgers and a Bud.”

“No, Mimi. As soon as I finish up your turnip souffle, I’ll have to try some.”

Japanese cuisine and Steak ‘n’ Shake while reminiscing over the 2014 Championship. Priceless.

And then a potential sequel I’m betting money the TWIMer faithful is glad got scrapped

“Harry, I’ve got the Macys fingered. I did a little research at the Milford Public Library and I found out in the Genealogical Department that the Macy are actually the Mashcherigurganov’s and they immigrated from Novosibirsk when Nixon was President.”

“Ralph, did you eat too many chicken tenders at The Diner? How could they have slipped past Customs?”

“Simple. When Nixon and his staff were being interrogated for Watergate, security got lax. They just rolled in while all eyes were on Tricky Dick. And a subtle borrowing of Macy’s name while shopping at the same for blue jeans and they had America written all over them.”

“Ralph, even if that’s true, why bite at the American Pie that feeds you?”

“Harry Boyle, I’ve never known a Commie to not give no quarter when he was running over the defensive lineman with his cleats. Scores a lot of touchdowns in the name of Stalin. America is just Grand Central Station.”

Yeah, I’m throwing this in the incinerator even as I text.

LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UP IN THE SKY!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S A MUDLARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SUPERMAN IS SITTING ON THE BENCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But will play later in the second half under Gil’s “Everybody Plays” dictum.

I will concede the art work for a football field in P3 are for once rooted in reality. Someone took the time to use his/her binoculars to size up the dimensions without looking like they’re scouting the team. Let me know the secret.

And if we can eliminate the high-brow drama that accompanies every TD run, we might be able to enjoy the athletic ability that is P3. Chet Ballard never looked good on 1-yard TD plunges, let alone dime store novel dramas. And I had to cough up a dime for the latter.

At The Diner

“So how was the Empanada Con Carne y Queso Cocinada en el Agua Azul sin los Frijoles Verdes?”

“A couple of the dumplings was lukewarm, Maureen, otherwise my compliments to the chef. Coffee was good too.”

“And let me remind you that this IS a game, not some worthless scrimmage to salvage someone’s season because he took the good silverware out of the China cabinet that his mom uses for Thanksgiving dinners and left it to rot in his locker. This contest will count in the standings as the coin flip between Thorp and Andrews at the 50-yard line is final on that issue. We’ll be back for the opening kickoff after this.”

“Aren’t you excited, Folks? It reminds me of those tender moments when we have the fire started at the Milford KOA #7 camp fire and I have my arm around Mimi and we’re sipping Chablis and enjoying some Gil Thorp Hot ‘n’ Nasty Pure Pork Sausages and Biscuits while Alan Parson’s “Tales of Mystery & Imagination is emanating from the ghetto box on the picnic table.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. And I thought this Romance Without Sex moment was the quintessential camping-on-a-budget experience, especially when a slab of pork was involved but Hot Damn was I wrong.

While Mimi was skimming through the section on baking cakes and formulating ideas on how to make the best German tortes from Eggo Waffles (“Pre-set oven to 400 degrees.”) out of the Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook , I happened to come across Chapter 18, Dialing for Dumplings. Ummmm, ummmm, if only you could have seen what other countries set on their tables next to the chow mein and reindeer burgers. It’s better than the All You Can Eat Burgoo betwen 3 and 7 at The Diner.

And I started thinking, something I rarely do in the 4th quarter, how about if I create some recipes using my sausage to lead the way to The Elysian Fields of culinary ecstasy? It was a no-brainer.

That’s why you need to try the Manti Surprise, dumplings imported from Turkey and Armenia, served generously with chunks of Gil Thorp Italian Sausage and some croutons. And don’t forget to pour some Paul Newman’s Russian Roulette Dressing. Served with Mimi’s Eggo Blueberry Bundt Cake, the bullet won’t go off on this Bacchanalian adventure.

Now some of you want to go Oriental on me. No problem. Thanks to a sweet deal I engineered with the city of Shanghai, not only will I get the finest hogs this side of The International Date Line, but the city officials threw in a recipe or two of their own.

So if your grill is still in working order and you still have some lighter fluid left in your garage, then Gil Thorp Smokehouse as Sin and some Xiaolongbao is a veritable sight for the culinary eye. Don’t ask me what Xiaolongbao means, it could translate “My QB’s are all blow and no show” for all I care but grill these Chinese dumplings on top of my Smokehouse patties and watch them bust the door down when Jackie Stewart is breaking down an Indy 500 engine and nobody knows what the crap he’s talking about. Nothing like Xiaolongbao with grill stains on them topping your Smokehouse and imbibing a Coors while A. J. Foyt gets the checkered flag. No Indy 500 concession stand can beat that. Elephant ears? With “All blow and no show, loosely translated?” Defense rests.

But some of you want to impress the boss so you want the wife to get out the Gil Thorp Honey-Smacked Pure Pork Sausage. And you know your boss is a meat-and-potatoes man. Well, I couldn’t think of a better distant cousin to a spud than the dumpling. And when your wife serves Maultaschen and the Honey to the one who signs your checks every Friday, you can be assured that our quality products will enhance the conversation and the glass of Four Roses. Just don’t tell your boss that Maultaschen is Bavarian for “Pocket of Milk Bones”. I know “Tasche” means “Pocket” anyway. Just don’t translate the rest and a successful night of good eatin’ will surely expidite that raise you’ve been begging for the last 18 months. Throw in some Archway Apple Fritter cookies and it might come sooner. Maultaschen and Archway and my Honey Sausage, ground fresh daily from the apiaries on our Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage property, in the hole, baby.

Folks, good eating is what it’s all about. Come get a package at your grocer today. And if you buy 5 of my lip-smacking products, I’ll throw in the recipe handout for all the scrumptious meals that you can create with my sausage and the dumplings originating from all corners of the globe. I don’t know about you but sausage and dumplings from Algeria just makes Christmas that much better. It’s like candy canes in the Christmas stocking. Get on doen and lay claim to your own country and dumplings and have at it with Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. Where Fine Flavor knows no checkpoint.”

No, Gang, Chance will not have to deal with KAOS. Maxwell Smart will be in the stands to monitor any funny business. He’ll be the one with the shades and the shoulder pads.

September 22, 2020

I Just Come To These Pep Rallies Because I’m A Pyromaniac.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:45 am

You know that it would be untrue

You know that I would be a liar

If I was to say to you

Gang, this plot survives the fires

C’mon, T-verse, start the fire

C,mon, T-verse, start the fire

Try to light this trash on


And correct me if I’m wrong but we have at least 3 plots running every which way, Corina taking Volleyball 101 for some inexplicable reason, the two-headed monster at the quarterback position, although I think Castor ate Pollux’s head at The Diner, mistaking it for a meatball, and Castor and Pollux scoping a couple of prospects from Mount Olympus. I guess when Gil lays down the hammer on who the QB is before he does Karaoke at the bonfire, there really isn’t much to work with in terms of a QB controversy. I am still not holding my breath. Plots that get short-circuited because they were allowing their sexual preferences to lead them to Lethe have a way to resurface. Just because Gil said Thayer is the quarterback doesn’t really mean Rapson will be picking up Thayer’s towels or discussing draw plays on 3-and-2. I still THINK there’s a rivalry but it’s getting sidetracked by Corina’s inflammatory comments, literal and figurative, not to mention her amateurish venture into volleyball. I wouldn’t trust her around a fire anyway. Rapson may start some crap but he’s not using his Zippo in the process. QB controversies without conflagrations. Let’s keep it real, Thorpiverse. Don’t get the Fire Marshal involved.

Big shout-out to Mark Kayrouz, a cashier at the self check-out at the Valley Station, Kentucky, Kroger. I have known Mark for years and he has ALWAYS treated me with the utmost of courtesy as well as his customers. He always has a smile on his face and you leave Kroger feeling great. Without his services, Kroger would be a lot less than it is now because he DEFINITELY enhances your shopping experience, especially with his know-how, enthusiasm, and love for his job. If you are in the neighborhood, stop by and see him. He represents what America is all about. Hard-working and friendly. I salute you, Mark.

And the Pantheon of Mysterious Objects is buzzing around all over the bonfire in P1. Looks like job security until Thanksgiving anyway.

I tried to translate what was on that sign, given the miasma of humanity, Corina’s balloon leading the charge, plopped in front of it. Thorpiverse has a nasty habit of blocking the fire hydrant when Gil pours on the fire from attempting to sing “Firehouse” or “Hotter than Hell” by Kiss. And couldn’t you imagine Gil trying to blow fire out of his mouth a la Gene Simmons? He might as well perform the fait d’accomplait out of his hair. Don’t get me started on what Gil and Mimi would look like singing “Rock Bottom” while wearing make-up and high heels. Mimi might look good in heels anyway.

“Who’s that person with the clown make-up walking into Gil’s office? And where did he get those shoes? He almost knocked the ceiling lights out of their fixtures.”

“Oh, that’s Gil, Dr. Pearl. He took the kids to a concert at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater.”

Anyway, I used my powers of logic that I learned in 3rd grade and deduced it wasn’t K-Mart. No, no blue light was going to flash around the bonfire announcing a sale on men’s underwear or popcorn or Deer Park 16-oz. water bottles.

And it couldn’t be the school caferteria. Why would they advertise their rubber hamburgers and over-heat-lamped French fries at a bonfire?

CONCESSION STAND!!!!!!!!!!! The “C” gave it away and I needed all the clues I could get. I was going to guess “Milford Nuclear Power Plant Comglomerates” next. Well, it has a “C” in it. And I don’t think Corinavirus (put THAT on a banner? Yeah, it has a “C” but so does “Crock”) got her cups from the Baseball Scrimmage. Yeah, sure, she left them in the trunk for this momentous occasion, a chance to be a part of history and be a royal pain in the ass. Isn’t that what YOU went to bonfires for? Drink Bud out of the cup and complain the fire needs more matches?

Okay, I think I’ve established that Corina is NOT toting Ensure that she stole off her grandparents’ bureau. But whaddup with some of the other UFO’s buzzing around? Like why did that guy to the left feel the need to wear his lawn chair to keep warm? And does he wear Depend Undergarments at all the pep rallies? I’m sure he has to keep his trapezoidal butt firm and warm but he may be overextending himself on this very matter. Dr. Pearl never used a pup tent around her waist.

Because I was a bit confused when some chewing tobacco ad made the disclaimer that it was not a safe alternative to cigarettes, breaking my heart because I wanted to break my 3-pack-a-day Winston habit with some Skoal the next time I go surfboarding

“Coach Thorp In Milford General After Latest Misunderstanding With Red Man Wintergreen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“It was supposed to get me in estrus but I wound up with an oversized cheek and my coif is falling out.”

The time to hesitate is through

Time to throw Gil in the fire

This rally we can only lose

And Will lay on a funeral pyre

C’mon, T-verse, light the fire

C’mon, T-verse, light the fire

Try to set this bunk on


The bonfire in P2 that is raging out of control reminds me of the bonfire my college held when our football team was doing extremely well and the football coach and the college president was trying to rally the students. And of course, the football captain, the quarterback, the star player (left guards deserve the spotlight too, even if it’s coming from a campfire) , the head coach, the assistant coach, the up-and-coming coach who later went on to coach the team we were scheduled to play for the championship, the alumni president, the football booster club president, the parents club president, the janitor (SOMEDODY had to pick up the charred logs and provide comic relief) , and finally the college president, Dr. Horner, went to the podium to speak. Bear in mind, we are outside, not in the gym where rallies usually took place. Since it was kinda hard to start a fire at the jump circle, the bonfire was located on some green area along the dormitories. It was brisk and the sky was a typical Fall overcast day so our president draped on his person a debonair overcoat, he was dressed to impress at the bonfire, trust me.

So he’s shouting at us that we weren’t excited enough and that our rally NEEDED MORE VIM AND VIGORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. And the way he talked, you could only imagine a borderline bass-baritone sounding like George Jetson’s computer. And he keeps warbling VIM AND VIGORRRRRRRRRRRRRR when he finally calls up the defense captain, an obvious attempt to get SOMEONE to validate his VIM AND VIGORRRRRRRRRRRRRR, banking on the captain’s speech to be within the bounds of good taste and based upon Christian morals, since my school was church-related.

Hoo boy. Was our college president disappointed.

No sooner does our defense captain take the stage that he grabs the mike and exhorts


Needless to say, our college president is just stunned. No evidence of any VIM or VIGORRRRRRRRRRRR. Finally, he says half-jokingly THAT WILL COST YOU AN NJPPPPPPPPPP (Notice of Judicail Procedure) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, at least making Gil eat Alpo was clean.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if Gil gets up on stage and, well, I’ll let the drama do the talking

“Is THIS the best you can do for a fire???? 9 feet high???? Smoky the Bear would be on sabbatical!!!!!! And we only had 4 squad cars complain about the noise!!!!!!!!!!!!! I may not coach better THAN Smoky the Bear but these wussy fires only intensify a bad situation. I don’t care if it would burn down The Diner in 5 minutes!!!!!!!!!! Why not TWO Diners??????? I never liked Maureen’s cooking anyway!!!!!!!!!! The stuff that goes into her scrambled eggs and the gossip that comes out of her mouth, I heard they are one and the same!!!!!!!!


Heard from the crowd




PEANUT BUTTER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






“LET US HEAR YOU!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD AND LOUD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RA RA REE!!!!!!!!


RA RA RASS!!!!!!!!!!



RA RA REE!!!!!!!!!!!!


RA RA RASS!!!!!!!!!!!!












LIKE HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Kaz, I only rode the bus that one time when you were taking me home from practice and your car had a flat.”

Shout-out to The Bookworm in Corydon, Indiana. This place has a wide variety of used books and many times, I go to town on the selections it has. The other day, I got “The Name of the Rose” and “The Canterbury Tales” and usual collection of Louis L’Amour westerns. And I got a book I have always wanted to read “The Incredible Journey”, the story of two dogs and a cat that go over 200 miles to find their way home. Laurie Kirkham, the owner, is always there with a friendly face. Sounds like a winning business to me. Heck, throw in the Diet Coke out of the fridge I always buy and I walk out of the store a happy camper. Great place for your favorite reads.

Support Small Business, Gang. Go where everybody knows your name. Laurie knows mine.

And I am lampooning the fire because that’s a five-alarm job in my neck of the woods. I guess it’s okay for Corina Cancer and Becca to savor a Volleyball Teammate Moment as long as the Lake of Fire stays on stage. There’ll be a lot of sun-tanned fans at the Oakwood game.

And I suppose Corina Cancer never lit my fire Eiffel Tower High but don’t tell me she hasn’t been to a pep rally like this. She catches True’s grapefruits practically blindfolded and has the agility of a puma when playing catcher but acts like a deer in the headlights when she’s at an outdoor pep rally? You literally need to get out more.





“Gil, the kids are sleeping. And take off those heels. They’re ruining the carpet.”

I just love these M.C. Escher perspectives, like what we’re seeing in P3. Is that the Oreo sky that is surrounded by the redwoods and the Empire State Building or is the snow-blanketed sky surrounding some black ugly-as-sin Christmas tree that is hanging upside-down and has a few bulbs burned out on the branches? Ray Bradbury used his imagination but the sky was the sky, not a backdrop that could go either way. I’ll guess the sky is the black thingy eavesdropping out of nowhere but I should never have to flip a coin like Thorpiverse is forcing me to do.

And as our heroes are entering Oakwood Cineplex, er, Stadium, I have worked for my dad in an engine core shop for 40+ years and I have NEVER seen a school bus disguised as a Sherman tank. That’s right, as soon as this bus drops the players off at the game, it has to head straight to Omaha Beach to retake Normandy. It should be back after Rommel surrenders to Eisenhower.

Recently, I was broken-hearted to see one of the play horses temporarily (so they say) removed from a major department store

“Giddyup, little dogie, take me hommmmmeeee-hey, where’s Barky?”

Mimi, at Milford Wal-Mart, knows where this?is going

“Oh, darn, Gil. They must have sent it in for repairs. Now you’ll have to come home if you want a good time. I cleaned the sheets on the bed this morning.”

“This ain’t right!!!!!!!!!!!! I had Kiss’s “Destroyer” all ready to get me worked up and the horsey was going to be the appetizer.”

“Well, yoi know what they say. Sometimes you can’t ride the horse that bucks you.”

“Honey, I’m going to get my Significant Other worked up, one way or the other, hey, I recognize that song…”



“Mommy, why is Daddy dancing on the electric wheelchair?”

“If I had an answer to that, NONE of my referees would back out on their contracts. GIL!!!!!!!!! GET OFF THAT CONVEYOR BELT WHEN PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO BUY THEIR GROCERIES!!!!!!!!”



Y!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! C!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Man, all this disco’ing is working up a sweat but I’m still flatter than a cornfield. Maybe if the Wal-Mart Radio Network played “Midnight Train to Georgia-“

“Gil, let’s head to the pharmacy and get those EREC-3500 Peppermint Fun Tablets. You shouldn’t have run out of those dosages. If I had known, you wouldn’t be making a fool out of yourself.”

“Is that why Daddy is humping the kiddie seat in the shopping cart?”

“My wife was right, as usual. And with those cool tastes like EREC-3500 Blueberry Bombadier or Raspberry Rapture or Honeycomb Hunching, I don’t have to swallow the Same Old Thing with a cup of water. And when the Raspberry Rapture kicks in, it’s like going through the orchard with an erection. I can’t say that when we shop for rhododendrons at Milford Nursery. Come see what you’ve been missing and get it OTC, now at your nearest major retailer. Isn’t it time to get off YOUR horse and conquer your ED problems?”

God bless you, Gang. I’m not jumping in that fire for you but it’s the thought that counts.











“Gil, take your Lemon Live tablet and come to bed.”

September 17, 2020

Charles Rapson Is The First String Water Boy And That’s Final!!!!!!!

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 12:32 pm

Camera zooming in on Coach Thorp and his charges

“He’s going to finally lay down the law, knowing his false teeth won’t pop out and get lodged in the linebacker’s shoulder pads. Coach Thorp had to use a mouth guard to coach the rest of practice. With the new Poly-Grip Advanced Formula Adhesive Gel, embarrasing mishaps like his dental work buried in a pile of grass while Luhm was mowing the rest of the field are a thing of the past like Tod Andrews. Confidence is so key when coaching off the cuff so it’s important to have all your ducks in a row. What kid will listen to you when you’ve been wining and dining, then coming to practice with your corn on the cob thoroughly shucked? You won’t get a kid to hit a tackling dummy after out dentures have been disgraced. Come try this new state-of-the-art Poly-Grip today. Also available in Fluoride Protection. One must cover all the bases.”

And why is it even necessary to yell your damn dentures off at a group of high school football players who have been quiet about the standoff between Rapson and Thayer? Talk about raising a stink where there’s no Gil. This Napoleonic tirade is unnecessary and stupid. When the Americans fought at Iwo Jima, there were soldiers from the other side. We didn’t go shooting our machine guns at palm trees that thought THEY deserved the starting QB job. I’d hate to put Gil in charge of our National Security, especially nuclear weapons. Finland would get nuked because they were arguing with Sweden over a disputed soccer match. Send a couple of ABM’s because some midfielder got dubiously yellow-carded? Remind me to leave Gil out of the Mideast Peace Negotiations. Pointing a finger at the players over this unnecessary and irritating QB controversy is like blaming Uruguay for the fighting between Israel and Syria in the Six-Day War.

His teeth didn’t fall out this time, I’ll give him that.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Rapson Cited At The Diner Over Coke Incident!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Why can’t I bring my own six-pack in the joint? It’s better than that swill Maureen sucks out of the Dr. Pepper canister.”

Thanks to Brian Tibbs of Mount Vernon, Illinois for help with this comedy idea. I plan on using more, Big Guy. He is an excellent worker at Freddy’s Steakburgers who is very customer-oriented. Treat him with respect, Folks. He’s earned it.


First off, the players have been practicing, Coach, not sitting on a tackling dummy with a jock strap wedged in their hind end contemplating who’s going to win the Battle of the Brats. Teamwork has a way of jettisoning concepts like that in the nearest trash can. If you’ve been noticing any wondering, it has to have been confined to the two buttholes who evidently have forgotten that the only time “I” shows up in sports is in the word “win”. All the other players have been going in that same direction, wanting to “win”. Make a special note of that in your playbook that you still have in your office.

And I’d be holding my breath if I was told “I’m going to be on the field”. I wouldn’t take that to mean I’m going to be PLAYING. Heck, I might be shaking the hands of the team that shellacked us, 63-0, at the 50-yard line and you have fulfilled your end of the contract so you can go back to Happy Hour. Yup, better grab that shovel and scoop all the manure Coach dished out because I’ll spending more time with that than involved in any audibles. Would you at least make me a blocking back in punting situations? I’ll have something to tell my grandkids. I’d be hard-pressed to explain why I toted a shovel for 4 quarters.

“That’s right, kiddies, I made the key block when we kicked the winning field goal. And we found Coach Thorp’s teeth. They were underneath the clipboard.”

And Coach, you’ve established that Thayer will be STARTING but you have yet to confirm that Thayer will be the STARTING QUARTERBACK. Now I think it’s safe to say that Thayer won’t be kneeling under the benches to see if old chewing gum that lost its flavor is stuck to your dentures but that’s as far as I’m going. If he’s the quarterback, say HE’S THE QUARTERBACK.

Otherwise, he might be taking Heather’s old coaching position, for all we know.

Come to Jeff Smith Marathon in Edwardsville, Indiana. Crystal is ready and waiting for you with great gas, great services, and great prices. This place is always busy, busy, busy. They were bringing cars in to fix even as I was getting gas for my own vehicle. I’ll know where to go if I need my vehicle fixed. Gang, if you’re in the neighborhood, get on down here where you’ll be treated fairly. Sounds like a winner. Take I-64 until you get to Exit 118 in Indiana and get on Indiana 62 west until you hit the first road and turn left. The station is right there and can be seen from the freeway. There’s a reason why they are going strong and have for several years. Crystal and staff will show you why.

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

Now that Gil has laid the hammer down and averred once and for all that Will Thayer will be starting SOMEWHERE on the field, not ruling out the schmuck moving the chains down the field, we arrive at the part where the players are in Saturday Night Fever mode. The only missing piece to this puzzle now that the QB puzzle, THAT’S STILL A PUZZLE, has been resolved, is the disco ball that would be hanging somewhere between the two Serta pillows in the background (WHAT?????? No overarching trees that are engaged in some Bacchanalian orgy while the players are working on the two-minute drill????????) .

Of course, it’s important to promote team unity and P2 is certainly embodying that ideal, Coach Thorp’s turning a blind eye to the shenanigans between two selfish individuals and pretty much relaying that to Manwich Marjie notwithstanding (“I like mine microwaved.”) . But it is really hard for me, and I’m trying, believe me, to not visualize these same players not in synchronization to The Trammp’s “Disco Inferno”. And hit those tackling dummies hard with The Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” piping hot from the speakers. Come to think of it, that may be the Mudlark Football team’s theme if Gil keeps rewarding guys with first string positions when they ought to be Stayin’ Alive on the bench. But that’s me talking. Yes, if you can stomach Gil’s BS and have Dentu-Creme ready on a short notice, you’ll be starting in the backfield, if push comes to shove.

Y!!!!!!!!!!!!!! M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! C!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“DAMMIT, THAYER!!!!!!!!!!!! Wrap that tackling dummy!!!!!!!!!!!! Or the only time you’ll BE on the field is doing 100 push-ups!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In Dr. Pearl’s office on a typical school afternoon

“Oh, mercy, I found them!!!!!!!!!!! The day is saved.”

“You mean you found that student birth certificate that got lost in the Certified Mail?”

“No, I found my dentures under this shelf in the file cabinet where the Teacher Competency Rates are located. I’ll get Mr. Luhm to grease the wheels in the tracking so they won’t get lost like that again.”

Whoa Nelly. Did I just read that some player said Coach Thorp made a mistake? Where’s my eraser? How’d that get overlooked in the final draft?

I’ll admit that Coach Thorp spends more time with the bottle than his backs as of late but Zeus was imperfect too and I wouldn’t be risking my butt getting struck by a lightning bolt saying Zeus ought to get a real quarterback. Tell him he ought to dump Mimi and go back to Hera or Aphrodite? It’s your funeral.

And what are all these names being bandied about? Does Thorpiverse assume I can just get my phone book off the counter in the kitchen and find Gordon Generic in the White Pages? Sure, the next time I watch The Flintstones, I’ll just see if Mr. Slate is listed under “S”. Since the name isn’t as common as “Smith” or “Jones”, it should be easy to narrow it down to Alphonso Slate, Wilson Pickett Slate, James Brown Slate (Wasn’t he Live at The Apollo?) , Theolonius Slate, and Bubba Slate. I’ll take a wild stab and let the teeth fall where they may.

If they gotta use a Black and Decker drill ta yank a molar outta yore gums at the Milford Dentistry Conglomerates cuz sum of yore teeth is rotted on account of all those Oreos ya devoured, ya might be a redneck.

And in P3, somebody FINALLY notices that THERE IS NO “I” IN THE WORD “TEAM”. But why is that concept in the lap of a teenager racing at the speed of light and apparently lost in Gil’s World? The Flash knows something Zeus, I mean, Gil doesn’t know? It’s hard to say the players take the wins, the coaches take the losses when Gil hasn’t been around to even take offense, and that’s saying something.

And I’m not denying that there are good players like Gordon Slate (Mr. Slate’s grandson, found it in the phonebook below Gerard Slate) who put the team first but Gil has confirmed Thomas Jefferson’s Deist Theory, i. e., Zeus wound up the grandfather clock and just let it tick and carry out the game plan while Zeus went back to Hera for a century of hot sex. God, no wonder why everybody will be on the field. Who’s going to tell them to get OFF the field now that there’s nobody there to make the substitutions besides Tarzan the Kaz? Marty Moon? Peaches? Mr. Dr. Pearl? I’ve heard of going up or down as a team but not stretched for 100 yards.

At the Milford Diner one evening

“Why is Maureen carding Dr. Pearl at the door? This place doesn’t sell alcohol.”

“The way I hear it, Dr. Pearl insists on bringing in her own Mountain Dew. She says the stuff here tastes like Palmolive.”

Thanks again to Brian Tibbs.

And somebody needs to give Thorpiverse a crash course in Physics. When a player rams into a dummy as in P3, the vibrations and ramifications thereof do not spring back on the player and spit in his face or you’d have water all over your face every time you dropped a rock in Mudlark Lake from the rental canoe. No, vibrations spread outward, not recoiling like a shotgun on your shoulder every time you shot at Gil for running practice too long. But I’m Team Mudlark even if I get grass backlashing on me even if Luhm is going TOWARDS me in his Snapper riding mower.

Because I am really not sure what to do if I wanted to enter T. Drew’s Firebranded Vodka in a vodka rating contest at my neighborhood liquor store

“The Bucket is at it again with their smear campaigns to drag Milford Beverage Warehouse into a vat of warm beer just to hold up their own reputation. They can score the TD and do the Ickey Shuffle all they want but our customers know where to go for the finest of the fine. When you go to Yankee Stadium, you have a right to expect pinstripes, not Bermuda shorts.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp speaking for the Warehouse and let me tell you, some people will stick firecrackers in our running back’s shorts just to get him out of the lineup. And that’s exactly what The Bucket did when they were turned down again by the Milford Zoning Commission on their application for a liquor license. Instead of shaking the hands of the players across the field who handed your ass on a plate, 71-0, The Bucket kicked the winning coach right in the crotch.

They said our recent Warehouse Vodka Verve Expo was just simply a ruse to get our customers to buy the stuff and forget it. That we had a lot of it on clearance and we needed to free up more space for the two trucks that come in every Wednesday.

The Bucket needs to stick to burgers and sometimes they don’t pan-fry those at the correct temperature. I know I’ll never order medium-rare with a fifth of Jack. The truth is, we wanted to showcase to the world our finest selections of vodka and naturally, if we could get some chump change along the way, you’re damn straight we were glad we could pay the light bill for another month. Did you ever see the meter reading on a Friday night?

So let me get the King of Beers of Vodka out of the way. We blindfolded some customers at a table up front with various vodkas in different sizes and shapes of cups and threw in a couple of confederates. If a guy or gal could taste the difference between vodka and Nestle Quik, we assumed he or she knew their liquor. And the winner as judged worthy of burning your lungs or your butthole when you’re sitting on the pot was Smirnoff #21 Vodka. And at $15.99, you are going to take home something you could substitute for champagne at your next wedding.

Then in the category as Vodka With The Most Kick was New Amsterdam. And when we had to help one of our blindfolded contestants up out of the Chester Cheetah display case after sampling said product, I’d say that bad boy lived up to its reputation. The janitor scooping up the Chee-tos off the floor for 1/2 hour thought so anyway. And you’re gonna get a little more with the $17.99 you pay with your debit card. That’s right, Jay’s Subs does more than immoderate baseball charity events, they also do Vodka contests and will throw in a free Turkey & Swiss Footlong Combo complete with Lay’s Baked Chips and a drink. Shoot, you can use your Dr. Pepper as a chaser.

Then in the Vodka That Tasted Like Somebody Pee’d In The Cup category, Absolut Vodka won in a runaway. You heard right, they ran to the roped-off bathroom that that same janitor was scrubbing when he wasn’t cleaning somebody’s Chee-tos off off the tile floor and got their money’s worth in stall #3. But at $14.99, you just gotta get used to the taste. The Bucket claimed we actually pee’d in the cup. Hey, I’ll drink it in front of you or the Milford Zoning Commission if it’ll make you happy.

And in the category of Vodka I’d Substitute For Budweiser At My Next Super Bowl Party, the winner was Svedka. Goodness gracious, I’ll have to special-order a couple of bottles the next time the Super Bowl is on the boob tube when I’m shopping for Totino’s Pizza Rolls or DiGiorno Pepperoni. It pays to be well-stocked on all the groceries for the Main Event. I bet my buddies will be thrilled to watch Montana or Bradshaw throw the winning score with that Dixie cup of Absolut and a Red Baron Italian Sausage in their hands.

Finally, in the category of Vodka I’d Substitute For Jim Beam, well don’t you know Smirnoff won again, this time in a walk. It’s always nice when you can sip on the finer things in life but when you can exchange gold bars for a checkbook, it all spends, right? But it’s nice to know I don’t have to lug gold bars around in my station wagon.

The Bucket can print what it wants. The Expo was a smash hit and only proves that if you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch and don’t bother attending any more zoning meetings. And if you flip tuna burgers for a living, you know what you want to be when you grow up. Come find out what The Adult World is all about at Milford Beverage Warehouse and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”

Gang, thank you one more time for your patience. You know these Vodka Tastes Tests can run a little over but I got a bargain, and some Chee-tos from The Warehouse.

God bless you, Gang.

“Joe, after you get done buffering aisle 2, would you mind sweeping under the Milford Farms Pre-Cooked Bacon display case? There’s still some loose Chee-tos and I don’t want to attract the bugs.”

“I’m on it.”

At The Diner during lunch hour

“Maureen, remember that customer that ordered Pork Chops and Green Beans Delight? He brought in his own A & W Root Beer cans.”

“I’m on it.”

September 15, 2020

There’s An “I” In The Words “At Each Other’s Necks Again”.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:00 am

Coach, you just uttered one of the bigger understatements in a while. To try to showcase two running backs which will more than likely provide a solid 1-2 punch this season while the spotlight is focused on two buttholes who are lowering the team to the level of the ditch behind the high school is like trying to advertise how scrumptious banana splits are at The Bucket in the middle of an armed robbery. Yeah, I think you better call the police on either one.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Charles Rapson runs his mouth and is more talk than walk. Yup, winning talks big and bullpoop walks into Gil’s office begging for a job as the water boy. Coach, I smell like I just stepped in a cow pasture but there’s plenty of that in your office anyway. And I know where the hose is to fill the bottles with water. Anyway, Charles needs to shut up and play.

But on the other side of the coin is Will Thayer who’s turning out to be a goody two-shoes as A Boy Named Rapp alludes to. Yeah, Rapp’s been flapping his gums but you aren’t helping the cause flapping your own dentures. Don’t say the other old geezer needs Poly-Grip with your teeth all over the gridiron. As anybody who has learned playing sports, you let your game do the talking. Will, hit Mr. Towelbutt between the cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones that line your face, and you can let the conversation flow. Otherwise, your conversation is flowing down the same sewer as ol’ Rappy Boy.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Thayer Refuses To Shower In The Same Facility As Rapp!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Thayer: ‘He’s the only dude I know that needs to apply Oxy-5 to his butt’.”

And here we go again with another installment of Marjie “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window Again For The Lowdown On The Food Fight Between Rapson And Thayer” Ducey. And darn, there’s no Manwiches this year when she’s ripping up Ryan vs. Ditka. Oh well, maybe there’ll be another charity baseball scrimmage next year.

The sad thing is, Gil is simply telling the truth to a certain degree, he’s got some horses this year to make Milford a legitimate contender, Chance “I really didn’t go to reform school” Macy and Charlie “My stepdad SHOULD be in reform school” Roh. But naturally, all of that will get sidetracked by the sideshow between Rapson and Thayer.

And instead of taking charge and telling these two Bozos to patch up their differences and play some football, Gil has to zip up his pants and put on his jacket while he’s trying to be funny with Marjie. Did you ever try to be like Foghorn Leghorn and tell a funny while you’re in the broom closet with someone who likes to get it on? Gil is failing miserably in this endeavor. Gil, next time, close the bathroom window so that Ducey doesn’t sneak in when Luhm isn’t there to scrub the toilet and GET YOUR ASS OUT ON THE FIELD. Then the QB question won’t be a question.

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Minor Altercation At The Milford Diner This Afternoon!!!!!!!!!!!! Three Charged In Incident!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Preliminary reports indicate it arose over choices between Ham and Rye Variety Pak and the Roast Beef & Au Gratin Potatoes Combo. Rapson and Thayer released on bond. Thayer’s mother charged separately on assault and battery.”

Then WHAT IS THIS????? Milford Mid-City Mall’s Annual Mudlark Modeling Revue Extraordinaire ’20???? Yeah, I wouldn’t try to cash in a Lotto ticket at Milford 7-11 betting that they’re actually going to practice. Not that Gil has displayed any forte in that regard but I woild have liked the odds better. Here, they’re hellbent on traipsing down the runway for the Milford Fashion Scene to ogle at.

We’ll start with the shirt. Yup, guaranteed to intimidate the opposition and create a fashion statement at the Milford Elks Club meeting for the wives of the members to enjoy. Just apply some Irish Spring Body Wash and you’ll have those female octagenarians at the Elks Club Raffle swooning and buying more than one ticket.

Next the pants. Can’t have your crack jutting out of those Speedos when sashaying in front of the sartorial society. Nobody’s going to be ooh’ing and ah’ing when you display the Grand Canyon while picking up the gum wrapper that slipped out of your pocket. Keep it nice and tight. Pretend like you’re modeling front of Mr. T. I bet your football pants will be sexy and absent of extranumerary, not to mention embarrassing, objets d’art. Washington did not cross the Delaware with his butt hanging out of his breeches.

Next are the cleats. Try to keep the steel studs in your locker. Modeling floors that resemble Maureen’s face when she’s adding another applique of Pond’s Cold Cream are simply gauche. You wouldn’t want your kitchen floor with 39 lashes, would you? Keep your adidas shiny, use plenty of Kiwi so that they shine better than Gil’s hair after he applied Turtle Wax. Oh, and keep your shoelaces tied. DO NOT fall into Marjie Ducey’s lap. She’ll get the wrong idea.

This is NOT the time to be pirouetting down the runway in your jock strap. No better way to get blackballed from Milford Fashion Society than to have your testicles hanging out when the item of note was not even scheduled to appear. No sense in worrying about missing the cue. Stick it up your butt and get some real clothes and hope they forget. It should work, people have forgotten about the baseball scrimmage.

“Oh, those shoulder pads are so LAST YEAR!!!!!!!!!!”

“Well, Coach, it’s either that or we order out of the Kohl’s online catalog.”

Supplement to the Milford Enquirer

“Rapson Knocked To The Deck, Will Require 23 Stitches To The Head!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Witnesses at the scene report that they were expounding on Dr. Pearl’s hairline.”

And it’s time for another addition of Fill in the Blank. I love it when Thorpiverse splits up the conversation, like we’ll kick the cat if Gil doesn’t complete the thought process. If the Milford Enquirer is missing P3 and your a Siamese, you best be hiding under your litter box. So as long as we’re Meeting With Marjie

“Gil, I was really expecting another buffet here at the Two-a-Day’s. I realize it was hard to engineer another All-You-Can-Pig-Out-Before-Puking-During-Wind-Sprints because The Diner catering manager quit for a similar position at Milford Disposal but the Pork Pit Plate w/ beans and cole slaw-WHAT is THAT pole doing in the middle of the field?”

“Oh, that. It was done by the art class and I gave them permission to pursue their “Cue Stick In The Grass-A Lesson in Impressionistic Form in the Fin de Siecle” as long as they had it dismantled by Opening Night.”

Okay. Everybody has a firm grasp on this one. If you don’t, too bad. Captain Kangaroo isn’t running practice. Anyway, let’s explore the possibilities of what Gil’s thought process might be should the press operator spill Maxwell House on P3

“-we can proceed with the prosecution. I already got in touch with the district attorney. Rapson should be sent up the river by Halloween and Thayer should have a prosthetic installed by then. We can switch Second Chance Macy to QB if we have to. Roh won’t have his stepdad riding his coattails so those sweeps should be lighter on the load to run. Diving plunges in the end zone oughta be a piece of cake.”

No? Okay, here’s another.”

“-we won’t have to go through the damn playbook in one night like we had to on Labor Day so that several missed the Labor Day Parade and we can have a O-Line Gets It party at Milford Lounge. As long as their parents sign the permission slips, they shouldn’t get carded at the door. Sometimes they gotta let their shoulder pads down.”

Okay, okay, get off my back. Let me try one more

“-I won’t have to listen to Marty on his call-in show bitching about how my QB’s don’t get protection. Like he uses any on a date. He better clean out his closet. We can still get back up and call another play. He has to call a lawyer when he gets careless.”

I tried. I really tried.

At the Milford Modeling show

“Hey Boy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You lookin’ mighty fine in that jock strap!!!!!!!!! And when the judges ain’t lookin’, get over here and f-“

“Chance!!!!!! Chance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wake up!!!!!!!!!! They sent Mr. Ballard to Sing Sing. You’ve been acquitted!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And the tree art work continues to impress. At least the cue stick is standing up straight. It should withstand any Tacoma Narrows Bridge affairs.

“This week on You Asked For It, a group of small-town high school football players almost got the surprise of their lives while in the huddle. Our on-scene reporter is there now where the concession stand is a thing of the past…”

Maybe Thorpiverse thinks there’s trees out there that grow at 45 degree angles to other trees but I can’t say I’ve ever seen an elm tree catecorner to a hackberry tree. I know nurseries out there employ different methods for optimum growing results but I’ve yet to hike my local nature preserve and observe poplars at an angle you would shoot a cannonball out of to defeat the Rebel army at Antietem. But maybe I need to read Shelby Foote again.

Late Night Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Thayer’s Body Discovered In Dumpster Behind Milford Lanes!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rapson Held As A Suspect!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“He was my friend.”

P3-“Gil, wanna see me throw? Because the only thing those two clowns have thrown is a fit.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Oh stop it, Marjie, you’re killing me.”

When I hear these commercials and/or The Milford Diner talk about wild-caught fish sandwiches, it puts my mind at ease that the Burger King Cod did NOT come out of somebody’s aquarium. With that in mind

“Folks, with the kids going back to school and COVID-19 still among us like my two QB’s that need to take their games to recess, it’s even more important to eat healthy by eating the 4 food groups and keeping germs off your plate. Now I’m not your mother so I’m not going to see if you’re eating broccoli, Brussel sprouts, and spinach when you go to The Bucket but I will see that your food is fit for human consumption.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. There have been some unwarranted, nasty rumors about our sausage. That we ship them in from the jungles of Africa or South America or when the hunters in Indiana in the fall have shot their limit and dump the dead pigs in a cornfield for the buzzards to feast on. If you honestly believe that, I have elevator passes to sell you leading into Mimi’s office.

Let me reassure you that even if I order 3 plates of wild-caught trout down at The Diner and have them pour tartar sauce on the specimens conquered by the bamboo pole, I will never allow any employee to hunt for meat in the restricted area of the state forest and I’m not even a good shot anyway. Porky Pig lives another day because my aim isn’t true and my Winchester needs cleaning in the barrels big-time.

So when you’re a guest for your son in the Milford Elementary School cafeteria, you can be 100% satisfied that the Italian Sausage Burger and Buffalo Fries may have arose out some buffalo’s butt for all we know but the sausage burger is locally bred and raised. The farmers around here don’t need to hunt for their Sloppy Joe sandwiches in their woods when they can stuff them with millet and sorghum and an occasional Big Mac and send it to the slaughterhouse ready for somebody’s birthday party.

Or maybe you’re still a doubting Thomas and you think our Sage ‘n’ Spicy Supreme is off some porker that the lions didn’t catch up to on the savannahs of Kenya. Trust me, we tried importing hogs from Austria as a token of American good will until I saw the tariff bill on my desk. Do you really think I’m paying duty for a pig straight out of a crocodile’s mouth when the croc can’t catch up to the hippo? Please.

And Okay, you namby-pamby Communists who think I live off the toil and sweat of hunters who lost their jobs as fisherman because there was no more tuna off the coast of Alaska for a month and they had to resort to ferreting out Yorkshires on Kodiak Island. No Denny’s Sausage Links that we supply them with has EVER come from The Last Frontier. Any hog that survives that frigid air doesn’t belong on the pile of flapjacks that Denny’s promotes as part of its All The Pancakes You Can Eat Lunch Special. Believe me, when I have a lunch date with the CEO of Tennessee Pride, my sausage is my own. His sausage and flapjacks can escape out of Rhode Island for all I care. The point is, I will not pour Aunt Jemima on dead wild pigs. You have my word on that. Bet the Tennessee Pride CEO can’t say that.

So come on down and get your package today of Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage and get piece of mind that our farmers only produce the best sausage that nature has to offer. Remember, bow season is for deer, not Miss Piggy. Let your taste buds come alive and savor the assurance.

Gang, you are more patient than I have a right to expect. All I can do is pass it along. But I will.

God bless you, Gang.

Headline in the Milford Enquirer Sunday Edition

“Thayer Emphatically Denies Petty Thievery Charge!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sub headline

“Why would I steal his mom’s panty hose when I can buy fishing nets like that at Dollar General and stick that store-brand job in my girlfriend’s stocking at Christmas?”

Maureen arguing with a customer at The Diner

“Sir, that Catfish Cacciatore is wild-caught!!!!!!!! I saw the employee drag it through the algae out of the pond!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

September 10, 2020

Have You Stopped Beating Your Wife, Coach?

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:34 am

“Coach, Just about every fan in the Milford section and the opponent’s fans across the field in their own stands thought that not playing Will Thayer in favor of Joe Senior was about as shit-headed of a move as you’ve implemented the last 60 years. They said, to heck with loyalty to people who have stomached your BS on the practice field and your drinking binges at the MCC Annual Dart Tournament off the field, you put your best 11 out there on the gridiron or go apply as a line cook at The Diner. And to tell Mouth That Runs Around The Track A Mile A Minute that he earns his stripes around here. A lot of people, including Mr. Holiday Inn Towel Crammed Up His Ass, have said he’s all blow and no show. That he needs to get that Nick’s Canadian Bacon Pizza out of his mouth and hit his target and stop talking trash and actually show whatt he can do but he can’t do it when Mr. Goody Two Shoes is the projected QB and ties his shoelaces and backs up his talk which he couldn’t do last year because Joe Senior was hogging the spotlight and not giving any to Mr. Goody Two Shoes and DEFINITELY not Mr. Mouth and not even you, Coach, the latter of which I understand will earn a trip on the bench for Insubordination-Conflict with Coach Over Misunderstood Objectives. But what do you think?”

If you took Logic, you had to remember Begging the Question. The fallacy arises in assuming the conclusion in one of the premises. If I say that worthless piece of horsemeat I ate at lunch with flies everywhere was a Bucket Burger and I go on to conclude that Bucket Burgers are not up to snuff, well, I think you grasp the general concept.

And that is pretty much the interview with a one Marty Moon. Personally, I think the man sleeps in his bed with snakes when he’s not sleeping with Peaches but his questioning, though with dubious intentions, have been reasonably valid over the years.

But you talk about a loaded shotgun today.

“Coach, don’t you think your shit-for-brains strategy to use Will as a tight end when he couldn’t catch the Holiday Inn towel if Mr. Towelbutt was bending over or Jumpy Jaws as a left tackle when he’d pee in his jock strap trying to block the 400-pound defensive end was just plain bad football that needed to be buried in Mimi’s Garden?”

“Watch your language, Moon. My kids are running around the track.”

And we weren’t apprised of any QB controversy because we were too pre-occupied with the Running Back Controversy, only incited by an outside party, i.e., Chet Ballard, who was mercilessly plugging his stepson, Charlie Roh, at the expense of American Tourister-laden Chance Macy. Gang, are you really ready for another supernumerary rivalry that will bog down the football season, even if really, Will brings it to the table and Jumpy Jaws brings it on himself, I being guilty of my own begging the question? Didn’t think so.

I don’t even want to THINK of the juvenile possibilities

Jumpy Jaws pours some alum in Dudley Dooright’s Gatorade and The Dudster can’t call the plays because he has no voice. Then Jumpy Jaws hands the ball to Charlie Roh for a 1-yard plunge and Chet Ballard puts his arm around The Jumpster after the game and asks “Where the Hell you been all season?” Hey, so what if all he had to do is stick a Holiday Inn towel up Charlie’s rear e-, I mean, hand the ball on a silver platter to Mr. Roh? And we can engineer Chet’s comeback. Like, for example, do community service, say, 80 hours mulching Dr. Pearl’s backyard. And send Dudley Dooright off to Canada where he can be a Mountie. Hugh McLennan, the noted Canadian author, might not like the Canada stereotype but Gil has been stereotyped a venerable leader for 60 years. One problem at a time.

Or we can tweak this one. Instead of alum, Jumpy Jaws can stick some Ex-Lax in Dudley Dooright’s pizza when the latter is busy paying the school cafeteria lady. Coach Thorp, tired of his trips to the stadium toilet seats, puts in Jumpy Jaws who proceeds to throw a pick-six, the fans yelling “Bad strategy, Thorp!!!!!!!!!!!!!” By then, Charlie Roh fetches some Pepto-Bismol out of his gym bag and pours some in a water bottle for Dudley Doo to suck out of. Ol’ Dudley has his stomach lined up with the stars, he throws 7 TD passes for a 55-6 pasting of the opponent, Jumpy Jaws gets his ass thumped in the parking lot by Chet Ballard, we move on. Possible.

Or maybe there’ll be no more stupid in-fighting and we won’t have to worry about players sniping at each other, Gil will get no more inane questions even though his playbook and general coaching is a reductio ad absurdum for the ages, and Dudley Dooright will still head to Canada to become a mountie. I don’t think I need to spell out the one that’ll actually happen.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Judge Ito Throws Out Key Piece Of Evidence In Coach Thorp’s Spouse Abuse Case!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Judge Ito: ‘Cochran from the prosecution tried to frame Mr. Thorp with those whips and chains from Milford Adult Shoppe but it was circumstantial evidence. Not only was it discovered in a K-Mart bag in his garage but the receipt didn’t match his Visa Gold number.”

And doncha just love this nature walk while ripping up your nemesis up one side and down the other? Well, I’ll give Thorpiverse coo’ points (Remember ya, Stuart Scott) for the best artistry in quite some time. Bushes that amazingly look like bushes, not the mashed potatoes that come out of the Bob Evans tub and fences that look like fences, not those bobsled jobs that you would use if you tuened them horizontal in the Milford ’24 Winter Olympics. And the trees in the background nicely grace the landscape. For once, a catalpa is not riding piggyback on a sugar maple.

So this examplar of verdant esthetics gets marred by Coach Thorp’s insisting he never beat Mimi in the first place? Okay, Coach, Marty jumped the gun but can we do our arguing in the Nature Center parking lot, not the Appalachian Trail?

Recently, the NCAA, in response to the forest fires out in the west, advised its institutions to practice sensible and prudent guidelines in response to the situation. Now I think they have done reasonably well in relation to the COVID-19 pandemic. Still, with my living close to Bloomington, Indiana, which is near Hoosier National Forest or Lexington, Kentucky, which is near Daniel Boone National Forest, it is hard for me to believe a raging blaze from either neck of the woods is going to engulf Assembly Hall or Rupp Arena, respectively.

And Gil shouldn’t be fanning the flames even if Marty has been a thorn in Gil’s side. I’d hate to see the Milford High School gym burn to the ground. I’d hate to see whether Milford is burning while they’re arguing over the Cubs’ pennant chances (gotcha, Robmize) .

At Milford Community College

“Do you have the volleyball court boarded up? I heard it’s a 3-alarm blaze at Milford Fish & Wildlife Area.”

“Nailing in the last set of brads even as I speak.”

It is with deep sadness that I announce the death of Ron “Kool” Bell of Kool & the Gang. He and his brother, Robert Bell, were instrumental in keeping the group hip-hopping with their catchy Hip-Hop style. Disdaining the word “disco”, which they really weren’t, they influenced the music scene and set trends along the way. “Celebrate” was their trademark hit, hitting #1 easily on the Billboard charts. They also scored with “Ladies Night”, “Jungle Boogie”, “Tonight”, “Fresh”, and “Cherish”. They got the whole world dancing to a nifty beat and the world had fun along the way. Please join me in saluting a man who was instrumental in making the world a better place through music. You got my respect, Kool. RIP

And in P2, Gil is mad as Hell and not gonna take anymore. Fair enough. But who the HELL recorded this? And why? Was there a camera behind the bushes?

“Gil, you couldn’t coach out of a doggie bag at The Diner. Why didn’t you put Knappe in as QB? Just because he buttered his Wonder Bread the wrong way? Your strategy matches that of Tinkertoys. And Mimi needs to replace the Saran Wrap on her head with aluminum foil. They may call her The Tin Man but she’d still have better-looking her than you. And coach better.”


Allen Funt comes out of the catalpa-sur-le-sugar-maple

“Smmmmmiiiiiiillllllleeeeeeee, you’re on Candid Camera!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Coach, you were wonderful. We had him going, didn’t we, members of the studio audience? Marty didn’t mean half that stuff.”

“Don’t press your luck, Mr. Funt.”

“Laugh” sign flashes on

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, that Marty, he’s a riot. We were telling knock-knock jokes, ladies and gentlemen, before we set up the cameras here and he had me rolling in the grass.”

Yes, next time you hike the Milford Trails Network, be sure to look around. You never know when that camcorder might be shooting out of the trees when you think a red squirrel is feasting on acorns.

“Maureen, did True ever make the Tampa practice squad when you were pumping that baseball scout for information literally and figuratively behind the pie rack at The Diner? And did you special-order some sandpaper for your shagbark hickory lines on your visage?”

Hey, it’s not begging the question if the premise is true, no matter how much I’m presuming.

Whoa Hoss, Mimi. And just when I patted T-Verse on the back for trees such as the one overhanging couple #2 on The Newleyweds, a Tigris Milfordensis Poplarum, I had to go right around and give T-Verse a size 12 Dickie Boots kick in the rumpus for Mimi’s remark.

LESS PATIENT??????????? When has Gil EVER been MORE patient with The Snake With The Scoop? Us T-Verse veterans have never seen Gil and Marty at a church picnic talking over 1st Corinthians 13, the Love chapter. Yeah, though I speak with the tongues of angels and perform miracles and wonders and have not love, I am Marty Moon at a Milford Mudlark Baseball game when the concession stand ran out of cheeseburgers and Cracker Jack and the ‘Larks are getting an ass-whupping by Tilden that I have to broadcast in the rain and I forgot to bring a poncho.

Being less patient with Marty is like saying Hell isn’t as hot as after the Glacial Period arrived by the Grace of God.

“Dr. Pearl, do you like your hair after you quit using Beaver Cleaver as your hairdresser?”

Hey, it could’ve happened. You’ve heard of the Miracle Mets, right?

And I will look in my Webster’s Third International Dictionary for the word “snippy”. I need to strengthen my vocabulary.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Keri. We like country-line dancing at the nudist camp.”

“Young man, your attempts to rationalize your behavior are admirable but snippy. You will still have to serve your suspension for ordering Nick’s Pizza in Mr. Rooney’s class. I’ve already talked with Mr. Spicoli and his response was snippy as well.”

At The Bucket, the manager in the men’s room with a teenage flunky

“Okay, Freddy, somebody shot for the moon and left a lot on the floor. Left the tiles all snippy. I want as much Pine-Sol as you can get dumped everywhere and spray with Lysol. The Snippy-Sized spray cans should be under the sink.”

Look, I gotta try new words on for size. Use them or lose them.

“And we’ll be back for another Nature Study With Coach Thorp-Ferreting Out Hummingbirds In Mimi’s Birdbath after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”

In the fallout shelter in Coach Shaw’s backyard at 2:21AM

KNOCK!!!!!!!!! KNOCK!!!!!!!!! KNOCK!!!!!!!!!

“Honnnnnnnneeeyyyyyyyy, I’m horny!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why are you underground like that?”

“Damn, Woman, How’d you know I was here?”

“There’s a trail of toilet paper you left behind.”

“Shit!!!!!!!!! That’s one less roll I’ll have for the next two weeks!!!!!!! Thank goodness I still have 268 rolls in the pantry.”

“Darling, there’s no reason for you to be down there. Now open de widdle door so we can go to beddie bye and I can give you something softer than Charmin.”

“NO WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! I heard the trailhead at Milford Municipal Forest Preserve was consumed with a forest fire bigger than Armageddon!!!!!!!!! I need to protect myself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Honey, the Forest Preserve is on the other side of town.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. These pyromaniacs lull you into a false sense of security and next thing you know BOOM, your house was engulfed innflames by a meteor that you thought was near the Pegasus constellation. That’s why the Federals lost the First Battle of Bull Run. Everybody was picnicking when the Confederates were believed to be at Miami Beach.”

“And what are you doing for food?”

“Oh, Lordy, let me count the ways. I have plenty of Nick’s Pizza that I ordered and he delivered about 15 minutes ago. And I have plenty of Hungry Man TV Dinners. Mmmmmmm, mmm, I’m throwing a Buffalo-Style Meat Loaf with Mashed Potatoes in the microwave. Shoot, the brownie’s so wimpy, I fed it to the gerbils. Gotta keep my macho image.”

“Which is fading away when I’m not down there.”

“Hey, I can always make it up with a bowl of Wheaties. No better way to keep your mojo in order than with eating right out of a box with Gil on the cover or Fruit Loops. I got 56 boxes of those. And 27 boxes of Cream of Wheat. Man, that’s better than testosterone. And 98 boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Oh, and 31 Klondike Bars. The dessert of all erections. Darn, I should have remembered to get some Ramen Noodles before I shut the lid.”

“If I go to the Neighborhood Market and get a couple of boxess, can we call a truce?”

“I had to open the door. Especially when I found out from CNN on my auxiliary TV that the fire had been contained in 10 minutes. I have a lot of toilet paper to use until the end of the decade. But I was hungry for more than Ramen Noodles and when I took my Ramen sex life to Milford Men’s Clinic, I got plenty of Manwiches in return. And we’ve been spicing it up ever since. I gave away the Fruit Loops to Milford Food Pantry. Don’t you want to eat your Wheaties? Sure you do. Come down to get your own photo on the Wheaties box after your energy kicked in and started your fire. No fire extinguisher can put this one out. Only at Milford Men’s Clinic.

I’m not begging the question, Gang. You know me better than that. Gil really is a lousy coach.

God bless you, Gang.

Dr. Pearl leaves her sanctuary and sees life for the first time. She enters the first room after her eyes get adjusted to the lights.

It’s Ms. Rizk editing a student cub reporter’s Milford High School Future Farmers of America report

“Ms. Rizk.”

“Dr. Pearl.”

“Have you stopped wasting your time reviewing the Milford Bugle, especially those Milford Sanitary Solutions, Inc. ads and those reports about teenagers TP’ing Coach Thorp’s yard and those catalpas-sur-le-sugar-maples by the football field? Some parents have been complaining.”


Honesty when we are begging the question. There’s light at the end of the tunnel.




I snippy, therefore I am

And Descartes subsequently invented the x-y graph.

September 8, 2020

Sorry, Charles, But You Have An Arm Like Starkist Tuna.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:28 am

Aren’t you excited to get started with another in-house rivalry that’ll drag on until Christmas? And notice I didn’t give the year. Yup, it might not end at Yuletide in 2020. Us Thorpiverse veterans are used to the Berrill years where they kissed and made up by the time Gil gave his sermon on December 25th, y’know, he’s cussing out a player who missed a screen, then turning towards the camera for his Our Daily Bread Seasons Greetings with wreath circling around the panel which might turn into a noose if he doesn’t start showing up for practice. I mean, the Milford Country Club Lounge DOES close at night, we assume. No reason not to get a good night’s rest and see how his troops are performing. BTW, he never closed his homilies with “Watch your language. Santa is keeping score” because he was getting an annual delivery of coal in his stocking on that account. Practice what you preach, Coach. And speaking of practice, have you been to one lately? Because it appears Tarzan of the Jungle (with apologies to Teenchy) is running the show.

Really, Coach, when you went to the School Board meeting to get hired as the coach, no member of the School Board anticipated your permanent residence at Milford Lounge. That’s right, Coach, you habe to check in every once in a while to see if they’ve made any improvements. Started to gell as a team. You won’t see any “I” in the word “Team” singing karaoke at the Lounge. Straining to sing “Afternoon Delight” while the gears are starting to mesh might still be singing but it is nowhere near the leadership the School Board President had in mind.

And then we gotta deal with these 2 clowns who have been evidently at each other’s throats since 1st grade when they tried to cut in line on each other at the Milford Elementary cafeteria. The prize was a brownie but now the stakes are higher. Archway Cookies and a chance to be the starting QB. Isn’t that something to shoot for? Raspberry Rumble and some bragging rights? Where’s a helmet? And darn, WHERE’S GIL!!!!!!!!

When The Rolling Stones did a charity visit for a 15-year-old who had weeks to live from a rare disease, they put on their best front. But when the kid was asked what his last wish was, the kid responded

“I want to party like y’all”

Well, say no more, said the Stones. They wheeled in the best wines and beer, brought in a couple of loose women, piped in their music over the intercom. The hospital got a nice bribe (Hey, you know The Stones had the money) so it naturally accomodated. The kid had a night to remember.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Gil Called To Question On Ethics Probe After Last Saturday At Milford Bowling Lounge Happy Hour!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Just because I was trying to boogie to ‘Brown Sugar’ with Marianne Faithfull? I’ve done worse when I was recruiting linebackers.”

Gang, I’m no artist as I have bitched about several times in the past, my niece is the Van Gogh in the family (ha) , but there’s a huge difference between what I accept for football pants and the attire that passes for the Jethro Tull-Thick as a Brick Revisited Tour currently making a stop at Milford Outdoor Amphitheate taking a detour at football practice. As long as we intend to watch two teenagers at each other’s throats for the last Twinkie and a starting spot as the varsity QB, I’m really not thrilled envisioning the storybook characters that Gentle Giant used to sing about. When I want football, do as the Romans do and wear football pants when you’re at The Colosseum getting thrown to the lions and when I want Peter Pan, I’ll look in the Milford Public Library under J. M. Barrie. I think the fiction section is by the water fountain where Gil is sleeping on a bean bag chair. The library couldn’t have picked a better place to situate its fiction section.

At the Gentle Giant audition in Milford Concert Hall

Gil-“…and the knights knocked the Tilden 11-“

Kaz-“-on its ass with a lance and a sword-“

Dr. Pearl-“for the king and bragging rights for another month-“

Steve Luhm-“they were noble in victory and Prince Charles Rapp-“

Coach Shaw-“won the hand of Princess Corina who was in jail for bombing The Bucket-“

Mrs. Shaw-“and she did no more bitching, then gorged on peach cobbler at The Diner and the players went back to practice, the coaches put the swords and lances back in the equipment shed and Gil went back to the Milford Bowling Alley Snack Barrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh, yeah. Well, it has possibilities. Let us think about it. We’ll call by the end of the week. Thanks for your time.”

And I’m guessing, more than likely correctly, that a Boy Named Rapp is “Sorry” Charlie Rapson who figures to run his mouth the next few months. I could wake up the next day and hope he kneeled at the Billy Graham Crusade and gave his life to Jesus and the starting spot to Will Thayer but apparently Thorpiverse has no intentions of publishing Gil Thorp Christian Comics. Gil would have to permanently stay out of the Milford Bowling Alley Snack Bar was the hitch, the way I hear it.

So we will unfortunaly endure Mighty Mouth for about the same time it takes for the tree-breeding program in the background sponsored by the Milford Community College Botany Department to come to fruition. I understand we ought to see little sugar maples running around in diapers by the end of November.

Dr. Pearl in the office listening to the Stones’ “Tattoo You”

“…don’t wanna be your slave

Don’t wanna be your slave…”

“I DON’T wanna be your slave, Dr. Pearl. There was nothing in the contract that says I couldn’t use my personal days for the Homecoming game.”

He seems to be completely unreceptive

The plays he runs make no sense at all

His eyes react to nought, the fans detect it

He hears but will not answer to the call

“See me, leave me, shed me, don’t touch me…”

And P2 is getting the trash talk in full swing after a sneak preview, with people nipping at each other, leaving the TWIMers understandably in the dark and having to piece together a gigantic skeleton, one bone at a time but like assembly-lining that bag of bones you stole from the mausoleum at Milford Rest Haven, is either one really worth putting together and viewing the whole by snapping on parts one part at a time? Because either one is going to get ugly before the month’s over. At least you can stick Jolly Roger in his Adult Stage back in the closet.

And we are getting the message that these 2 gentlemen don’t like each other although, judging by the garbage A Boy Named Sue is dishing out, Sue is pretty much bringing this on himself. Yes, it ain’t trash if you can back it up, but just because Gil is still wining and dining at Milford Country Club doesn’t mean you can talk the talk and not have to look in the parking lot to see if Gil is going to get out of his golf cart and make you walk the walk. Sue Rapson, if you keep pumping your jaws, the only walking you’ll be doing will be in the runway to the locker room after Will Thayer showed up to play and quit worrying whether Gil took another sick day. You play the way you practice, Jaws.

And quit using your abdomen to receive oral messages. You flap your jaws and your duodenum TOO???? Talk about room for improvement.

At the prison where Papa Bader is taking up permanent residence, especially after The Rolling Stones left him a bottle of chardonnay ’67 (Was a very good year-Bader taught Brian Jones how to play the which Jones later played on “Ride on, Baby”)

“…I shouted out who killed the Kennedys

When after all, it was you and me…”


And I get this sick gut feeling Corina the Cancer is going to get in the mix of all this garbage accumulation. Sure, let’s pile it on by having two boys duke it out on the playground for a Joe Sclabotnick-autographed baseball bat, then have Ms. Cancer intervene and tell them she could QB the team better than these clowns when she’s not spiking Mimi’s head. I’m just full of plot ideas, aren’t I? Then when basketball rolls around and those 2 Bozos are still jawing with each other, she can add basketball to her resume and knock their heads together in the cafeteria, leading to one gargantuous food fight and say she took a cue from Alexa Watson on how to be more aggressive. Both Charlie and Will will wind up with stitches in the hospital, Ms. Cancer will win MVP and everybody by then OUGHT TO SHUT UP.

Then again, Corina might bomb Cindy Brady’s sack lunch and Corina gets expelled and winds up back at Valley Alternative. Consequently, Will and Charles will still be vying for the QB position at Thanksgiving. We’re back to square one. Plan B is somewhere on the children’s menu at The Diner.

There is no chance, no player evaluation

All hope lies with the team and none with Gil

Imagine though if there were stimulation

Needed to improve his coaching will

“See me, leave me, shed me, don’t touch me…”

And in P3, we are seeing why Runny Mouth Rapson should sit down. And why should we be surprised? Thorpiverse was sneaking this weasel up on us, using Corina the Cancer as a decoy. Good strategy, T-verse. Watch Goodyear Head and Cindy Brady hit C the C with an innocent question, hoping you can distract us and Mighty Mouth eventually become an element of surprise. You really faked us out of our boxer shorts, T-verse. I would have never guessed that after Corina took the Greyhound hallway home that Mighty Mouth was not all that, that he talked more than he delivered, in fact, Nick’s Pizza delivered more at practice than he did. We just put 2 + 2 together and came up with 5 after he started talking smack when donning his helmet on his watermelon brain, thinking that he was going to take responsiblity and get better after learning that his arch-nemesis had been pumping some iron, even when the trash talk was free-flowing. He might have come to his senses. But then Thorpiverse would still be stuck with Corina and her inabilty to dig a volleyball. For 3 months???? Keep talking trash, Mighty Mouth. It’s interesting, if nothing else.

“…she’s so respectable

She’s so respectable

She’s so delectable

She’s so respectable

Get out of my life…”

“Gil, would you change the Rolling Stones record to side B? I’m so pooped from all this aerobicizing.”

“Here, boy, here, boy, get the stick.”

Oh, that’s a football. And the hapless loser is getting overthrown because Mighty Mouse is doing more talking than worrying about his accuracy throwing UFO’s. And of course, Will Thayer will throw an 80-yard bomb on a dime and win the quarterback job. We know how this goes, T-verse. Nobody throws a football in the burning trash bin if people like Will want to be the knight in shining armor. And alter the script? Mighty Mouth is really an alto in the Vienna Boys Choir who just overthrew Joe Towelbutt because he didn’t eat his Wheaties? Nah, better get Will some practice and do justice to people who let the scoreboard do the talking e.g. Will Who Walks. We’ll just revert back to Corina the Cancer who can work with Cindy Brady on their digging game and bash Goodyear Head and Mimi because they frequent the same stylist while Will gets his shit together and acts like a hero by practicing so that he can throw like one. Right through the tire, Hero.



I often wonder what Gil is thinking

Has he ever heard what the team has said

Look at him on a barstool, drinking

What is happening in his head?

We wish we knew

“We’ll back for the conclusion of ‘Gil’s Holiday Camp’ after these messages. This is WDIG in cooperation with NPR Radio who is kind enough to present this masterpiece. Funding for this program is brought to you by a grant from Milford Foundry and Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage.”

“Honnnnnnnneeeeeyyyyyyyyy, open up!!!!!!!!!!! I know you’re there in the den!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I’m horrrrrnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“I can’t right now, Mrs. Shaw. I’m partying with the Bad Boys of Rock ‘n’ Roll, The Rolling Stones.”

“Honey, I don’t see any cars or busses out front.”

“Blubba, blubba, they all rode in an Uber over here. Shoot, they got the money. And the way they tip, the driver oughta be able to pay off his alimony and his mortgage on his house.”

“They all rode in one small car?”

“Woman, sometimes you overthink. Keith Richards rode with the luggage on top because nobody else wanted to inhale those nasty cigarettes he smokes.”

“And I don’t hear any sound.”

“That’s because we all got our earphones on playin’ High Tides and Green Grass. And after we get done playing “The Last Time” the last time, we’ll be chillin’ on Charlie Watts’ Jazz collection, one disc at a time. I can’t wait until I jam to “Relaxin’ at Camarillo” on my earphones.”

“I’m thinking this will take all night.”


“Why would they come to our house anyway?”

“Oh My Tumblin’ Dice, well, uh, uh, uh, they saw I was overworked as a part-time rent-an-assistant-coach for Gil and they took pity and said I needed to loosen up. So they ordered some Ruffino, some Beefeater, some Korbel Brut, some La Marca Prosecco di La Rosa Con Brio, all from Milford Beverage Warehouse. Apparently they have a running account. Oh, and some Grape Nehi for Faithfull. She gets thirsty after some hot sex.”

“Darling, there’s an orgy in there?”

“Trust me, I’m an innocent bystander. I’m just jammin’ on ‘Where The Boys Go’.”


“She had me there. I had to come clean and open the door. The only Stones I had was my lapidary collection. It was embarrssing to admit that a chalcedony was harder than me. But the good news is that Milford Men’s Clinic has programs that work that help when you need some love to make you happy. And me and my wife have been happy the last couple of weeks. Come get happier than Mick Jagger singing “Waiting on a Friend” and get your record collection on par with your erection. Only at The Clinic.”

“No, Gang, No. Mr. Towelbutt does not need Preparation H. Maybe a little more speed to catch up with that overthrow but I’m drawing the line there.

God bless you, Gang.

Keri comes home from kindergarten

“Mommy, we didn’t sing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’. Some bunch of men that said they were rolling stones led us in a song. They called it ‘Sweet Virginia’.”

She sings “Come on down, Sweet Virginiaaaaaa, uh huh

Got to scrape that shit right off your shoes.

“I wonder what they meant.”

Mimi struggling for an answer during Quality Time

“Uh, well, you know, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Now go walk the dog.”

September 3, 2020

A Boy Named Rapp

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 12:29 pm

Well, My coach left the team at the count of three

And he didn’t leave much to the ‘Larks and me

Just this old golf club and a Bud Light bottle cap

And Milford High skinned him ’cause he ran and hid

But the meanest thing he ever did

Was before he tanked, he went and named me Rapp

Gang, don’t know boutchoo but I am not prepared to bear another episode of an athlete who stores soy milk in his helmet because it energizes him when he’s spearing the quarterback. And what makes it worse is the same guy talking about another player who didn’t have to pour soy milk in his Cocoa Puffs to look like the Hulk is pretty sturdy himself. We’re leaving Corinavirus back at The Diner so that Some Jerk Named Rapp and The Thing from The Fantastic Four are discussing how Charles Atlas now adds rocks to his Hamburger Helper because he got tired of Gil kicking sand in his face at the Co-Ed Sand Volleyball Tournament that was co-sponsored by Milford Foundry and Milford Beverage Warehouse? Well doggie, Granny.

And you can’t help but wonder, as long as we’re on our Maureen fix, does she have the skinny on how Will “New” Thayer got pumped up?

“No, he did a lot of squats and bench presses. He laid off the dead lift because of his sore back. Oh, you want the Shrimp Buffet? Sure, it’s to die for. And he laid off the Beer Battered Fish Sticks to concentrate on his glutes.”

Jack of all trades, master of none to me.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Refuses To Put Up Corina After Latest Explosion Incident At The Diner!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Ain’t nobody stickin’ a bomb in my toilet. I had to use the Condo Office Commode and somebody unloaded the city dump 15 minutes before. She can sleep at the Milford Econo-Lodge for all I care.”

Well, Gil must o’ thought that football’s a joke

And it got a lot of laughs from Mudlark folks

It seems we have to fight this crotchety crap

Some cheerleaders giggled and the team got red

And boosters would laugh and they’d bust their heads

I tell ya, life ain’t easy for a boy named “Rapp”.

It’s time to play Preeedddddiiccctttt the Plot. This is Johnny Olson and some lucky winner will be released from this endless wheel of plot rebirths and experience Nirvana. Now here’s your host, a man bigger than Gil, Wiiiiinnnnnnnnkkkkkk Martindale!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So Malcolm in the Middle Rapp is possibly going to be the new enfant terrible of this strip. It’s hard for me to imagine anyone in awe of another person’s muscular development once got 3-day suspension because he threw an eraser at Mr. Rooney. Mooned Mimi riding in a GTO while she was planting her zinnias and Gil supplied the mulch? Didn’t happen. So Crap Rapp wins the Bad Boy prize by default. Not that Mike Knappe or Corina Karenna couldn’t mount any competition. But The Mayor got shipped to Advanced Honors Reform School and Corina is a girl. Seperate awards for snotty people who have nothing better to do besides catch used horsehides and eat Pop Tarts at The Diner.

Now please don’t have Crap Rapp share the same homeroom at reform school just because Dr. Pearl found cleats in his gym locker

“Dr. Pearl, I use these for football.”

“But you could still brandish it as a weapon when you get soundly defeated and you can’t locate a switchblade. Also I’d be held responsible if you assailed another player with your foot odor, young man. I need to call your parents.”

“I’m confused. What’s the charge?”

“Foot odor AND sharp cleat studs.”

“I have Odor Eaters.”

“Too little, too late, young man.”

Maybe we’ll get two for the price of one. Crap Rapp will assail Corina with one of his cleats after she says he plays football like a girl and she’ll bonk him with a volleyball after he says she plays like volleyball hasn’t been around the last 60 years. Hey, a volleyball is a weapon. Would you throw one at Gil? Well, I understand you have your reasons but work with me here.

They’ll be at the same school as The Mayor is what I’m driving at and this biodegradable plot will be up and running again, oh joy oh joy. Will they be serving hors d’oeuvres at the football scrimmage/afternoon brunch? We can try Corina at offensive tackle. Her attitude is big enough. And I’m sure an appetite for Nick’s Pizza to match.

Lieutenant Frank Drebin at The Diner

“So what do you recommend?”

“How the Hell should I know? Do I look like your mother?”

Drebin slips Maureen a fifty

” Try the Crab Cakes Souffle. We’ve had several phone-in orders. Corina downed 5 of them before the EMT pumped her stomach.”

Well, I grew up a moron and I grew up a jerk

My helmet didn’t fit and my cup didn’t work

Roam from plot to plot and appear as a veritable sap

But I made me a vow to the football stars

I’d search The Bucket and the Milford bars

And kill Coach Thorp for molding a boy named “Rapp”.

And when A Jerk Named Rapp arrogantly puts on his spheroid helmet over his rectangular head and refuses to smell the coffee, you KNOW he will figure somewhere in another non-sporting event this Fall. Oh, we MIGHT have football but lately sports has been the diversion, Another World the main event when under the Berrill years it was clearly the other way around. Anybody having trouble fitting a circular peg in a square head (Gil or Rapp, terms are liberal) and talking trash that he can fit his circular covering over his brain requiring Pythagorean’s theorem to fit or determine his IQ is just fodder for another trip down Meandering Lane. At least the Ohio River ends at a thriving metropolis.

Does anyone expect this to differ? Like we’ll never see Mr. Cube Top ever again and we’ll divert to the water boy who got careless in the equipment room and he proceeded to make whoopee with Ms. Rizk and now the Milford Circuit Court Judge is issuing a decree compelling him to walk the streets of Milford wearing The Scarlet Letter “M” ad aeternum or at least until basketball commences. I know I wouldn’t walk into The Diner and display that to Maureen.

“Uh, do you still have the French Toast and Bean Enchilada Platter?”

Nope, and not holding my breath on volleyball while that is on the agenda. Yeah, alternate between Joe Rapp Blockhead and his arrogant ways even though he gets steamrolled by a guy who’s been busier pumping iron rathan than his jaws and a whiney sniveling brat who learns the errors of her ways by spiking a New Thayer player into submission. I’m getting a front row seat for this double feature.

So there you go. Rule #1 in Thorpiverse Theater. If a guy is acting too big for his britches or his helmet, we’ll see him tomorrow or at least until X-Mas. The squeaky helmet gets greased. And so do we.

On Predict the Plot immediately following the news but before “Friends” comes on

“Is it Will Thayer on the trombone?”


Well, it was Milford Lounge in mid-July

And we just killed practice and my throat was dry

I thought I’d stop and have myself a Pabst

But there he was, that piece of mud

There at a table, dealing stud

Sat the dirty, mangy coach that yelled at me “Rapp”

Well, I knew that snake had a lot of gall

His photo should have graced a Post Office hall

And I knew that cliff on his hair and his Dentyne smile

He was smelly and bent and frayed and old

And I looked at him and my plasma ran cold

And I said




Yeah, I laid it pretty thick

And it appears the Milford School Board splurged and bought some Sugar Daddy light fixtures. I knew the Lego Block structures were running their course. All good things must come to an end.

In Doctor Pearl’s office while she’s on the phone

“I hear the train a-comin’

It’s rollin’ ’round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine

Since God knows when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison

And time keeps draggin’ on

But that train keeps a-rollin’

On down to San Anton-“

“Excuse me, Mrs. Knappe, let me turn this down. No, we cannot make any exceptions. If we permit students to bring a butcher knife to school and place it in their lockers, we’d have to let everybody. We operate a reputable institution, not a slaughterhouse. Fine, I’m confident Miss Baxendale will be in touch.”

I tell ya, I’ve fought yellower men

But I really can’t remember when

He farted like a mule and coached like a crocodile

I heard him laugh then I heard him cuss

Knew his coaching was a colassal bust

He stood there lookin’ at me and I saw him smile

And he said “Rapp, football’s rough

And if a man’s gonna score, he better be tough

And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help you along

I give you that name and I said goodbye

I knew you’d have to act the jerk or die

And it’s a name that truly helped this plot along”

Did we just go to the Milford Lotto and pick volleyball out of the chute? What other ping pong balls were swirling in the receptacle? Jarts? Bowling? Mixed Doubles Wrestling? Boxing with one arm? Water polo? You could have taken your pick on this one and I bet a 24-year-old Bucket Burger that’s been hiding under the riding mower in Gil’s garage that the conversation between Steel Belt Hair and Cindy Brady and Corina Virus would roughly be the same.

“Remember, you have to be passing in 4 solid subjects if you want to play horseshoes.”

This MIGHT be interesting.

And now that they’ve taken the tour out of the Black Hole wing of the school, two questions remain. 1) How did Corina shrink/Steel Belt Hair rise in stature? Sure, being an orientation leader is a noble calling but you only grow an inch tall, not overextend the top of the doorway. And with Corina’s attitude, she’ll grow an inch less. She’ll be Tiny Tim by the time volleyball is in full swing. 2) Is there a Greyhound bus parked in the hallway? Or is that a Trailways?

Gang, I don’t care what any of you say, Gil Thorp and Johnny Cash are not the same person. Yeah, Gil and Mimi performed “Daddy Sang Bass, Mama Sang Tenor” at Folsom. He was lucky to get out of that place with his Brylcream intact.

But God bless you, Gang.

Yeah, he said, “Now you played football with all your might

And I know you hate me and you got the right

To fire me now and I wouldn’t blame you if you do

But ya oughta thank me before I die

For the pigskin in your guts and the focus in your eye

‘Cause I’m the son-of-a-bitch that caught the rapp”

Yeah, what do you do, what do you do

I got all choked up and threw up my Pabst

Called him a cab and he called me “Rapp”

And I came away with a different point of view

And I think about him around the clock

Every time I tackle and every time I block

And if I ever have a son I think I’m gonna name him

MONTY!!!!! DURWOOD!!!!!!!!!! ANYTHING BUT GIL!!!!!!!!!



“…And I ain’t seen the sunshine

Since I don’t know when…”

“Coach Kaz, I didn’t know Johnny Nash sang at Folsom. I never knew prisoners to like Calypso.”

“Ummmm, yeah, right, Dr. Pearl, hey, Gil and I are heading to the 7-11 during our planning period. Want anything?”

September 1, 2020

Here’s The Story Of A Girl Named Brady Who Was Touring Someone With An Attitude.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:12 am

And it looks like the youngest one in curls is going to show how things are done in Mudlarkland to the one person who is least likely to care. Anyone who started her orientation at a sleazy diner over stale pancakes and 10W40 maple syrup that make nice welcome mats at the Thorp vacation residence in Florida is really not a candidate for Miss Mudlark at Homecoming or a potential Ivy Leaguer. Boy, aren’t you chomping at the bit to watch the Homecoming Parade where True Standish and Sarah the Sniveler are sitting in their respective thrones built by the Milford High School Woods 242 class? Just rolling triumphantly down Main Street in Milford where everybody on the planet (Valley Conference audience, anyway) can wave at them? Like Snarly Whiplash is going to wave back. Oh, she might wave but she’ll likely use one finger and I don’t mean her thumb. And the Woods class built a commode for a throne to commemorate her magnanimous enrollment into Milford. Yeah, I’m not only not going to wave and like it, I’m going to shit on everyone’s parade. And smile. If the shoe fits, wear it.

“Hurry, Snarley, we’re turning a street corner. We gotta look good to the fans.”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’, asshole. Hey, we ran out of toilet paper.”


Because I was amazed at a 24-year-old hamburger from McDonald’s that someone stored for God-knows-what

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Bucket Burger Dating To 1969 Found Under Freezer Unit While Worker Was Sweeping For Loose Trash!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“It didn’t taste very good. The pickles tasted like a used tire. I fed it to the buzzards in the alley.”


And I listen to radio show about my favorite teams every day. And I noticed they fired this one radio program because they were talking about anything BUT sports. Good.

Gang, I may not agree with what you have to say but will defend your right to say it. But if you’re talking yin when you should be talking yang, forget it. This program was singing silly songs, the ones we used to sing in 5th grade music class out of those songbooks that Gil wrote graffiti all over when HE was in 5th grade (“Gil has a crush on Dr. Pearl”) . The program was talking politics, the weather, Dr. Pearl’s Yearly Report on Baseball Scrimmage Injuries-1979, where to buy S & H Saving Stamps ANYTHING BUT SPORTS. Heck, one episode they took a poll and asked what meat you had today. And they had fans calling in. Okay BUT WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ATHLETICS!!!!!!!!!!!! ESPN mercifully pulled the plug on that program. The true sports fans had spoken.


“This is Marty Moon here to talk about the upcoming football season on WDIG. We have a caller, a George Frecklesnoot, you’re on. What’s on your mind?”

“I like my chuck roast medium rare. I tried to burn the damn thing but it tasted funny. No taste even when I dumped some McCormick’s Seasoning.”

And that’s what we’re all saying here. What in the name of Nick’s Pizza has happened in the last 2-3 months that would warrant calling this Breakfast at Maureen’s a sports strip? We’ve had a baseball game interrupted by a smorgasbord, we’ve had a football star playing pitch and catch with Miss Lobster Outlook, we’ve had bomb scares that momentarily got defused by taking a dip in Mudlark Lake and I gotta ask WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPORTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Geez, if only ESPN could step in Gil’s office and shoot this dead horse or horses in this case. This stuff needs to get transferred to NPR Radio. After “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies” by Tchaikovsky, the announcer can discuss what locker Corinavirus is going to stuff her textbooks, how much she is going to need for lunch money, whether she’ll ever unload her attitude in the dumpster behind the maintenance building at Milford High, what room at Milford Asylum her mom is going to be staying, what lunch they’ll be serving there, pasta or Spaghetti O’s, whether True got that job as an assistant manager at Milford 7-11, what classes Becca Ramirez and Cindy Brady will be sharing with Corinavirus (“Ooooooooo, you’re taking FRENCH??????”) .

And we can get on to football. Now PLEASE don’t hire Corinavirus to be the tight ends coach. We not only have been down that road with Heather Burns but NPR might not have room on its John Philip Sousa Marathon on Saturday to discuss the possibility. Darn.


Mr. T sees True Standish at Milford Elementary Field

“Hey Boy. You lookin’ mighty fine in them Tampa sweats. And after you’ve pitched a few, get over here and f-“

“True, True, wake up!!!!!!! 15 minutes is up. Let’s work on your change. Those are easy to catch.”


Isn’t this lovely? What better way to break Miss Attitude of her Attitude (notice I didn’t use lower-case letters) than with a girl whose hair got dragged by Luhm’s riding mower using some old fencing Gil used before he refurbished his back yard and Cindy Brady? BTW, didn’t she play on the basketball team? I can’t remember, we’ve seen more of Gunsmoke and Police Squad the last few months than ESPN Plays of the Day. Non-athletic vignettes just expedites the memory loss. Anyway, correct me if I’m wrong.

And speaking of sports, what the Hell is Miss Sniveler going to be playing? Because softball ended a few months ago. Is there Fall ball? Well, the consolation prize is there IS sports. An athletic pursuit out of season is a heckuva lot better than this year-round soap opera.

STILL, the question remains if Mimi can’t line up the umpires for the 5-Game Fall League, WHAT SPORT DOES THORPIVERSE HAVE IN MIND??????


“Now if you tone down that attitude, you’ll barrel over Milford Falls without a hitch. We go for the gold around here.”



“No, you can’t whack the Tilden player with your stick just because she said your mom is a permanent resident at the Bates Motel. You’ll have to sit out a quarter.”


“You got yellow-carded for telling the ref he points the flag worse than Dr. Pearl MC’ing a School Administrators Luncheon?”


We’ll pursue this open-ended discussion at a later date.


If ya git a grandiose tour of the new trailer park they opened up by the Milford Toyota plant and ya like ever’thing they have ta off-ur at Milford Chase Luxury Suites, especially the pond in tha middle of tha acreage fer skinny-dipping and fishing when tha property manager ain’t lookin’, ya might be a redneck.


And when Corinavirus is mentioning the possible conversation amongst Phoebe, Mimi’s Assistant de facto, Goodyear Tire Retread Head and Cindy Brady, I can only manage in my dreams what was said

“Oooooooooooooo, do we have to latch up with that snorkely bitch? I feel like I’m touring the school library with my mom.”

“Now, now, be nice. There is no such thing as a bad bitch, just bad intentions. Offer to buy her a Ho Ho at the school cafeteria and you might have a pal for life.”

“I heard she’s a catcher. Being a female jock with a parallelogram butt is so last year.”

“Think of the possibilities. What about Maureen? I’ll bet she carried a chip on her shoulder at one time. Carrying plates full of rhubarb pies will do that.”

“Don’t even go there with Maureen. I heard she and the night-shift school janitor meet behind the boiler room at 11:00 every night for some hanky-panky.”

“Look, be nice to her and you can have the Blue Plate Special, chips included, at The Diner, my treat.”

“You’re on.”


In Mr. Rooney’s classroom one fine Friday


“Hey boy. You’re gettin’ me goin’ in them Haggar Slacks. And that beard is nice and tight and givin’ me some good vibes. In fact, get your ass out from behind that desk and get over here and f-“

“Dr. Pearl, I’m having problems with another student.”


And why are we wasting time with the obvious? Anyone who is surprised that Miss Sniveler was going to stay in character needs to get an appointment with Milford Optical.

Cesar Romero was an excellent actor who played The Joker on Batman when it was run back in the ’60’s. Part of the reason why the show hung around longer than it had a right to was due in part to Romero and his willingness to assume something not in his milieu. Anyone back in the ’40’s and ’50’s who was told that Romero would play an arch-villain on a Superhero series would have said you’ve been drinking the same thing out of Gil’s beer mug. He played a lot of handsome gentlemen involved in heavy romance. You might as well have said Corina would be playing The Joker. Oops, let me rephrase that.

Anyway, anybody who would tell me that September is going to be the breakout month for sports and that Corina will ditch Milford High School and be The Penguin and go terrorize Gotham City and leave Milford alone and football will have no more Bluto’s digging into Phoebe Keener’s file and discovering that she slept in the same motel with Jimmy Swaggart needs to pitch that concept to Tumbleweeds. Both are pretty ridiculous without even trying.


As Chet Ballard is on his 57th illegal entry into the Milford High School Administration Building Annex

“Hey Boy.”

“How’d YOU get in here?”

“Dr. Pearl had a spare key, fool!!!!!!!!”

“You won’t tell, will you.”

“We can work out an agreement.”

As Mr. T continues to ogle

“I like the way you bend over when you’re diggin’ for dirt. Gets me hotter than a Hungry Man TV Dinner. And I won’t call the Milford Enquirer if you’ll let me f-“


Later that night at the Ballard/Roh household

“I swear, Honey, I will never so much as go on the playground at Milford Elementary to catch up on the kindergarten gossip.”

“Well, I would hope so. I trust you learned your lesson this time.”



And we have had that drilled in our head for at least a month. But if you want to continue the redundancy with someone with steel-belted hair and another who’s an actress when she’s not bombing 3-pointers (safer than bombing WITH 3-pointers) and have both tell her what we have known for quite some time, feel free to do so. We’ve been stuck in the mud since True pretended he was a Major Leaguer anyway.


Croquet? Not a Valley Conference-sanctioned sport. I could see Corinavirus whacking the judge with a mallet but…


“And we’ll be back to see if Corina makes it through the first day of school or goes home to mother after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”


“Can you believe someone left a hamburger in a shoebox for 24 years? And French fries too? I would have gone to the Milford Apothecary 24-Hour Drive-Thru for some Cruex-in-a-Drum if I had jock itch that long.

And that got Milford Beverage Warehouse thinking. Hi, this is Coach Thorp and I was a part of that thought process. We didn’t want the cowards at The Bucket to get any ideas that they could drag out our dirty laundry in retaliation for being rejected three times by the Milford Zoning Commission to obtain a liquor license.

So we’ll save them the trouble and confess our faults among one another even though they have enough dirty laundry along with dirty dishes of their own. I oughta know. I’ve eaten their food.

Yes, one day the part-time sanitation engineer discovered a bottle of Yuengling beer hidden in the tank of the toilet in the men’s room while installing another Ti-Dee-Bowl clip to keep the commode fresh and clean and odor-free for our customers. He was wondering why the water wasn’t filling up all the way. Guessing correctly that some asshole didn’t stick the Racing Section of the Milford Enquirer in the tank because his horse finished in last place, the piece de resistance was safely brought to port. And good thing he didn’t drink it. The expiration date was April 1997. I like things vintage but I haven’t drunk Martini & Rossi out of some outhouse and you can bet your next roll of Charmin I never will. It was sent to the Smithsonian Institute as a representation of Americana. And that’s as far as it will go. The Institute refused to state on the placard its origin.

Then there was the time some Cutty Sark was located in the storage attic when our employees were trying to find a place to out overstock. And again, the expiration date was a bit excessive, June 1999. We’re not sure if skidrow bums bought the stuff then grabbed a ladder when no one was looking. We haven’t found any skeletons yet but don’t put it past The Bucket to use that same ladder and sneak a skeleton they hocked from Science class at Milford Elementary. If that’s the best they can do to try to frame us, they can use my pickup truck to haul a few more out of Biology Lab at Milford High School.

Then there was the Bud Light that was uncovered in an old freezer no longer in use that the Warehouse had neglected to send to Milford Metals because they were busy servicing their winos, er, customers. And yes, The Warehouse was caught red-handed as the lost merchandise had a sell-by date of October 1984. But leave it to The Bucket to say that we should have had the Milford Health Department do a thorough inspection. Then no stone would be left unturned. As if they had room to talk. The Health Department hit them with so many citations of banana splits rotting in the sink because the Milford Women’s Christian Temperance Union had over-estimated the attendance and subsequently over-ordered, they were counting chocolate syrup cans instead of sheep at night. Old ladies don’t eat that many banana splits, I don’t care how many show up to bitch about alcohol.

But there’s good news in all this. The Warehouse is having a One Day Sale this Saturday from 8 to 5 on all alcoholic products in the store. That’s right, everything from Michelob to Jack, Pink Truck to Pabst is open game this Saturday as everything in the store will be half off during those hours. Heck, I’ve got my Coors already lined up for Mimi and I to suck in when we’re grilling Impossible Burgers on the verandah.

But don’t wait because once it’s gone, it’s gone. Kind of like my football season last year. Come in with your thirst in your throat, your attitude at the door, and your wallet full of Franklins and come get The Good Life at a bargain and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”


Gang, I don’t care what you say, I insist the hog is feasting off the corn cobs on the Orientation Day table. But God bless you all.



“Arch and a spin, go for the rim. Just like in basketball. Oh, I’m sorry, Corinavirus, I forgot you play softball.”



Mr. T at the Milford Nudist Colony

“Mommy, I heard Mr. T tell a couple of men ‘I’ll bend over, you drive.’ What did he mean?”

“Here, Keri, here’s a roll of quarters. Go get some Laffee Taffee out of the machine.”





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