This Week in Milford

January 17, 2019

Today, Marty “Scoop” Moon. Tomorrow, Rush Limbaugh And Allen Colmes!!!!!!!!!!!

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Marty, I wouldn’t be showing my face ANYWHERE, let alone on your radio show. Anything you’re doing now is licking the table scraps of meat loaf and mashed potatoes off your Broyhill King Louis XIV collection, a table you more than likely hocked from Versailles Palace when the French Revolution was taking a potty break. Of course, you do that anyway but at least in times past you used plastic silverware. Don’t forget to send your table cloth to the dry cleaners when you’re done licking.

Honestly, Patton was right: “I never admired a man who lost and laughed.”

So why are we digging for more roaches when there’s plenty scurrying around in Moon’s booth and beyond but then roaches and Marty are pretty synonymous with each other. Yeah, I guess that’s only logical. Roaches of a feather flock together. Who better than roaches to dig up more garbage out of the roaches garbage can and broadcast that garbage on the GBN (Garbage Broadcasting Network-I don’t think one of their sponsors is Raid) ? Go ahead, King of the Roaches, keep scooping after you’ve been scooped. That’ll make up for lost time for sure. By the time you’re done, the EPA ought to be in on this cesspool. Scoop, you are King in your court. BTW, you might want to spray your throne with D-Con again, I saw a couple scurrying on the arm rest.

I mean, really, what more do we need to know NOW since the cat is pretty much out of the bag? We know that The Man Who Billboarded Too Much is a malcontent who never heard of School Board meetings and would rather go the Your Ad Here route, able to finance it from his World’s Finest Chocolate sales (Lord, the number of doors he must have knocked on) , changes his name once again to Robb, like we really like keeping track of all his sobriquets or even have the time in that regard (God, which one does he use to endorse checks he’s going to cash?) , trying to get Gil fired. Take a number, Robberto.

Scoop, we’ve done read about the Watergate break-in. No sense in interviewing Ehrlichman and Haldeman on WDIG  to see if they’re going to wiretap Dr. Pearl’s teleconferences with the New Thayer and Oakwood principals. But I wouldn’t put it past you to try. Roaches are like that. Cut your losses, Archy, and I don’t mean the one whose friends with Jughead.

Okay, you whippersnappers, the group is Procol Harum and the tune is “Conquistador”. Gil had him over for dinner to relive old times. Marty, don’t try to scoop this. Call Orkin and do some extra spraying in your booth.

 

Conquistador, your team is bad

In need of some recruits

The situation’s all bogged down

Better wipe those muddy boots

 

A forward is a name you use

On your mail, not basketball

And a center just plays catch

After gulping Adderall

 

And though we hope for

Action to find

We can see no

Movement in kind

 

Though we hope for

Plays to unwind

We can see noooooo

Motion in mind

 

The Milford Symphony Orchestra and Procol Harum making a great team on the interlude. Is there a message here, Gil and Kaz?

 

Conquistador, a vulture sits

On your bench with the subs

Waiting for this plot to rot

Grind it to little nubs

 

Peyton Place is wearing thin

Basketball scurried out of town

Practice now is all that’s left

Waiting for the ref to count

 

And though we hope for

Action to find

We can see no

Rebounds to time

 

Though we hope for

Dunks through the twine

We can see nooooooo

Dishin’ the dimes

 

Coach Shaw and his jazz guitar trying to keep up with Robin Trower on the guitar solo. I think the hare will beat the tortoise this time.

 

Conquistador, there is no tale

We’d love to give respect

Though we entered the gym so proud

We leave now with regret

 

I see your armor-plated hair

Has long since lost its sheen

And though you came with whistle held high

You did not sizzle

Only fry

 

And though we hoped for

Action to find

We just saw no

Movement in kind

 

Though we hoped for

Any ghost of a sign

We just saw nooooooooo

Basketball Times

Robb ending with the trumpet flourish, only getting pelted with tomatoes for his squeegie on Gil while Procol Harum get a well-deserved round of applause along with the Milford Symphony Orchestra. Actions have consequences, Howry.

 

And this Conquistador, to no one’s surprise, isn’t doing a great job of convincing Los Guerreros that the 10 million Francescos on the other side of Les Montaignes Pyrennes are wussies who get dropped off at the day-care center by their mothers, Mama’s boys to the nth degree. Mis hombres, you’ll just need your BB guns this time. We oughta be able to clean house and kick some tail within the time McDonald’s stops serving breakfast. Pack Lightly. Not to worry, Gunnery Sergeant Highway took the Alps while Rambo and his gumbahs routed Neuschwanstein. We’re covered.

While we’re still agape observing Seneca struggling to persuade the plebians that Augustus Caesar’s centurions are not going to raid your fridges and will leave 10% of foodstuffs you stored for the winter as compensation for all the virgins that are no longer virgins, isn’t it time Thorpiverse refreshes our memory on what a basketball court looks like? Stopping short at the locker room, out of apparent efforts to appease our preference of basketball games actually being played vs. Falcon Crest, really isn’t cutting it. When I find myself wishing for Dickie V’s glossary of Diaper Dandies, Dunkeroos, Slam-Bam-Jam, Cupcake City because Dark Shadows has run its course, you know eventually the basketball-starved are going to revolt. For they march out to Bastille Day, like the group Rush used to sing.

It’s like the used car salesman talking about the Rolls Royce (Sorry, Dickie V, i forgot to add in Rolls Royce Programs) with 200,000 miles on it by showing his son’s Tonka Truck collection.

“Now if you’ll ignore the crane, the emergency brakes are on the left. We replaced the brake shoes so the toy truck and the Royce shouldn’t roll down the mountain again. And these brake pads are not cheap K-Mart Blue Light specials. We went to Pep Boys this time (“People like us, Tonkas LOVE us”) .

And it’s bad enough that we’re in the locker room. Players getting dejected, especially after a winnable game is understandable (Trust me, being a high school booster and coach forever, I UNDERSTAND) but is it too much to ask Thorpiverse to sow WHY they’re dejected? For all we know, they kicked the shit out of Jefferson but just got informed by their traveling (only in Thorpiverse is previous word used as a non-basketball word) academic counselor that they have to write a 1000-word essay on “How I enjoyed basketball over Christmas Break”, double-spaced, 4 inches from the left margin, due tomorrow. I’d be bummed too if I did a poster job on somebody, then just discovered that they moved my SAT exam up to midnight tonight. Are those #2 pencils still in my locker, next to my soap dish?

I repeat, Thorpiverse, a funeral advertisement in the middle of the strip to sponsor “Another World” is just kidding yourself. We’re not seeing rebounds but burial expenses, we’re not seeing free throws made but the organ playing “Funeral March” by Chopin, we’re not seeing assists nor steals but the preacher saying the basketball plot did not die in vain but is in a better place. Yeah, stick the fouls and turnovers into the jar of ashes and dump it all out into Mudlark Lake from Kaz’s Evinrude.

One final rendering on this topic. Remember when Deacon Jones sold the Dairy Queen “More Burger than Bun” concept?

“When I want a burger, I’ll go to Dairy Queen. And when I want bread, I’ll go TO A BAKERY.”

So here we go, Deacon Jones kind enough to do another promo with some alterations

“When I want basketball, I’ll turn the remote on my Magnavox to ESPN for North-Carolina-Duke, Kentucky-Louisville, UCLA-Arizona, Indiana-Purdue and so on. And when I want soap, I’ll go BUY SOME LIFEBUOY!!!!!!!!!”

I’ll put some Irish Spring in your stocking, Deacon, no problem.

 

“We’ll take a commercial break. I’m talking with H.R. Haldeman about how he broke into Gil’s office and planted Milford DeLuxe Smut under his playbook so that people might take him for Pee Wee Herman and get Gil fired. We’ll have more after this. Don’t go away.”

“Hi, I’m Marty Moon. Y’know, battling to not get outscooped by the Milford Elementary 8th grade newspaper can sap your energy. That’s why Kellogg’s Raisin Bran uses 2 scoops in every box. That and a tall boy of Michelob Dark and I get my second wind, interviewing the School Bully before the punk kid reporter gets out of gym class. Don’t get outscooped by Lucky Charms. Plenty of green clovers and yellow hearts but no raisins. Start your day off right with Kellogg’s Raisin Bran.”

 

Then there’s that painting in P1 where it appears Patrick Henry is orating his “Give me Basketball or give me Death!!!!!!!’ speech while our forefathers are sitting on the bench, gettin’ pumped for the game. Is that Benjamin Franklin with the cane in his Nikes? Aw, shucks, I forgot, he’s injured. Too much carousing in France might get the Northwest Territory but it’s Hell on the ACL. And I swear, Charles Pinckney displays the ugliest-looking jock strap. Put your shorts back on, Pinckney, there are ladies present. Plus the delegation from Belgium is due to show in the 3rd quarter. After the game, couldn’t you imagine Elbridge Gerry coming out of the shower with just a towel and a blow dryer? Ids that where we get Gerrymandering from, i.e., a path leading from the shower head to your locker, hoping Daffy Duck isn’t snooping for a story? Talk about rewriting history.

 

At Independence Hall in Philadelphia, Joe Tourist scoping the art

“Who’s that man that looks like Engelbert Humperdinck and why is he shaking hands with Thomas Jefferson? Was he the one who did the Louisiana Purchase?”

 

Last, but CERTAINLY not least, is P3. Marty, it’s bad enough that Peter Brady outscooped your ass on Mr. Price’s sexual advances towards Alice the maid but when you’re interviewing some kid barely out of high school, attempting to extract a tell-all tabloid in the name of getting Gil fired, that’s plain sad. I’ve already lectured y’all on the School Board route so let me cut through the Bucket Crunchy Frog Shake and say you could pull John Q. Public off the streets of Milford, stow him in a communist debriefing room next to Ms. Rizk’s room on the second floor, and in 3 weeks get him to say Gil should be fired because he hasn’t changed his Jockey Brand underwear in 6 months. Boy, I’d like to see the contingent rally ’round the flagpole on that one wouldn’t you?

Why don’t we just go to the Milford Correctional Facility and give Otis the Drunk a police escort to your studio, splash him with Old Spice Beer Breath Fighting After Shave so he doesn’t stink up your studio, literally and figuratively, and let him slosh for 2 hours how Gil couldn’t walk the straight line when the Milford Police pull him over when designing a matchup zone? He really isn’t  qualified to speak on Gil’s coaching any more than The Great Schnozzola we’re seeing now in the studio and that’s the point. Don’t have them in the same booth at The Bucket. As Jimmy Durante a/k/a The Original Great Schnozzola Who’s Too Busy Entertaining To Launch Billboard Campaigns would say “Dat’s moral turpentine!!!!!!!!”

 

“We’ll be right back after these messages. I’m talking with  Count Chocula about his feelings towards Gil. I agree, Count, Gil’s coaching is worse than Boo-Berry swirling in sour 2% milk. This is WDIG. Don’t go away.”

 

“Hi, this Coach Thorp for Milford Beverage Warehouse. Has post-Christmas party blues got you down? Stuck with that bowl of Stove Top Stuffing in your fridge in your office and nothing to imbibe? Well, shoot, I have the answer. If you’ll return any of the leftover office party grub to Milford Beverage Warehouse, we’ll give you a voucher good on your next purchase of Drewry’s Lite or Budweiser 1893 Original Formula, both in 12-packs. No sense in leaving that Papa John’s Pepperoni Pizza that’s been in your purse for 10 days when you can sanitize the damn thing and purchase a slice of The Good Life. Goodness, makes me want to return that 1/4 block of Cracker Barrel Provolone Cheese I left in the den. Come on, admit it, you stole that 24-pack of Mudlar-K-Cola Root Beer & Horse Radish right from under your boss’s nose but if you return it to the Warehouse, no warrants will be issued and, shoot, The Warehouse will throw in a free can of Milford Vending Beer Nuts. That and a Bud to wash it down? Time to come clean on that pound of Amish potato salad you’re letting vegetate out in your garage.

But hurry, this deal won’t last long. The deal ends by the end of January and if you want your resume clear of any trivial wrongdoing, ya gotta act now. Come on, Grandma, bring in that fruit cake you shoplifted from Milford Bakery back in ’63 because you were hungry at Yuletide and the Bud Man will call it even. Sounds like a winner. Milford Beverage Warehouse. We’re changing Milford’s perception on exchanging gifts, one customer at a time.”

 

Gang, comment away. Some of you have already and I really appreciate it. You make Democracy work. in the interim, I’m going to Milford Beverage Warehouse to see if I can exchange my Pay-Day collection for some Bourbon. Doesn’t hurt to ask.

 

“And we’ll be back after this. I’m interviewing The Invisible Man and you’re right, Gil’s coaching is invisible. This is WDIG. Don’t go away.

 

“Hi, I’m Marty Moon. Even if I got outscooped by Pogo Possum from the Okefenokee Daily Swamp over Gil’s getting attacked by Albert Alligator while he was fly-fishing, there’s a scoop ready for me at Milford Ice Cream & Dream Shoppe. A double-dip scoop of Rocky Road will help erase the memory of Churchy Lafemme getting that exclusive on Kaz’s catfish battles. And a single scoop of Neopolitan hits the spot when you’re competing with Howland Owl for that story on Beauregard Bugleboy’s sex change. Then there’s the banana splits. You don’t need scoops for that one, thank God, or my boss would give me a permanent suspension. Wouldn’t have to worry about using profanity on the air anymore, dammit. Oops, darnit, sorry, read the script wrong. Anyway, come to Milford Ice Cream and Dream Shoppe, where getting scooped is tasty and won’t lose your job.”

 

From a story about a police officer who’s a mother and pulled over her son who was speeding, gave him a ticket and kissed him

 

Joe Friday and Bill Gannon catch Joe Friday Jr. trying to steal Gil’s stuff out of his house. Joe Jr. is in Gil’s driveway, trying to close the trunk  of his Vega on the wide screen TV he is hocking, plus miscellaneous trophies in the back seat

“Police!!!!!!!!! Freeze!!!!!!!!!!”

Joe Sr. approaches Joe Jr., the latter with his hands to the sky, and kisses him square on the cheek.

“Awwwwwwwwrriggghtttt, Gannon, read him his rights, then book him on a Section 56, Article 12 of the Milford Police Code, ‘Attempt To Steal Merchandise From a Public Official During Half Time’.”

 

 

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January 15, 2019

We’re Sorry, Marty Is On Assignment At K-Mart During The Frost/Nixon Proceedings

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Gee whillikers, Archie Andrews, MARTY RETURNS!!!!!!!!!! Gang, speaking of Archie, how long do you think Archie & the Gang would last as a Double Issue if Jughead Jones went to Milford Rehab Center for his hamburger addiction and was sentenced by the Rehab Center Commission to their retreat house out somewhere in the boonies whose property  borders the property line of the Milford Nature Area? I’m not expecting Jughead back anytime soon if he’s ordered a strict diet of milkweed salad and soy milk.

Or if Moose Mason got sent to the pen because he found out Reggie went all the way with Midge this time, in the back seat of Reggie’s T-Bird no less and got pummeled to death, let me repeat that, LITERALLY got pummeled to death. Yup, Reggie had fun, fun, fun ’til Moose took his one life away. Okay, Beach boys had better lyrics but I’m trying to make a point, c’mon.

Speaking of lyrics, if you’re wondering where Jimi Hendrix got some of his own tunesmithing

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy, Moose

Where you goin’ with that gun in your hand

Heyyyyyyyyyyyy, Moose

Where you goin’ with that gun in your hand

 

I’m goin’ down to shoot Midge, my old lady

Y’know I caught her messin’ ’round with Reg again

etc. etc. etc.

 

And we might NEVER see Jughead or Moose again and, if so, the Archie Comix Collection is going to cause the Dow to plunge, not to mention severely cripple sales at these Comic Conventions.

BUT MARTY???????? Welcome him and The Prodigal Son back to the fold. Kill the fatted calf and reopen the Milford Lounge, doesn’t matter which one you do first, one will be a snake who becames a lamb while the other will be also be a snake but turn into a lizard. I’ll let you decide who is who but I’ve never known lizards to have a taste for ground round steaks.

And what a way for Marty to make his grandiose return to the fellowship BY BEING OUTSCOOPED by The Daily Planet!!!!!!!! Marty, how in the world could you have not known that Superman had to call an ambulance because he had a severe case of the runs due to an overdose of kryptonite? You didn’t notice the wagon flying by your house? Welcome back, Kotter, even if Jimmy Olson done bunked your ass.

And for that matter, aren’t you all at least a little shocked that the station manager at WDIG isn’t tearing a new butthole into Moon? (Smacks head) Shit, I forgot, Thorpiverse is trying to keep things on the level and maintain a Christian Family Atmosphere that is Gil Thorp. C’mon, gang, you remember when you were kids and you went to the Milford Lounge, they had a FAMILY ROOM. Well, they didn’t want you on a bar stool sitting next to Otis the Drunk slobbering all over himself. Foster Brooks not covering his mouth after downing a Heineken? Where’s your manners, Foster? THEREFORE punishing profanity trumps the nature of the beast of Journalism. Share that greasy cheeseburger with your kid sister while there’s an orgy next door. It doesn’t matter if Linda Lovelace and Raquel Welch are bare-chested and performing questionable acts with members of the opposite sex, as long as it’s on the other side of the Mason-Dixon Line, we’ll keep coming to Milford Lounge for supper.

Can’t you see the station manager in a Father Knows Best heart-to-heart talk with Marty?

“If cub reporter, Peter Brady, writes an expose on WW III, well, Marty (slap on the wrist) , do better next time and fight to get to Omar Bradley’s office sooner even if it means slipping a 20, 5 times his allowance, or stuffing firecrackers down his pants

but GODDAMMIT, Moon, watch your language when broadcasting the Mudlarks!!!!!!!!!!”

“Yes, Father.”

 

“General Custer, were you aware that 1,000,000 Indians are lying in ambush behind that hill?”

SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Hey, watch your language!!!!!!!!!! You’re on the air!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

There’s a rumor that Marty got outscooped by the Milford Star at Little Big Horn because he was interviewing Mimi Thorp on the possible rule change allowing 5 seconds in the lane.  Just a rumor, I understand.

 

 

Shout-out to Rebecca Arnold of Louisville, Kentucky, for her courage to overcome many obstacles while in a wheelchair. Gang, she gets out and about and today she was enrolling in a class to make her a better person. Good for her. Gang, she is proving that she is always learning. That is what life is all about. She has a firm grasp on that. Keep plugging away, Rebecca. You have my admiration and respect.

 

Wait a minute, don’t tell me. Richard Milhouse Nixon has a great-great-great grandson who is carrying the torch for his great-great-great-papaw. Robbin’ Robert is taking a cue from Tricky Dick on how to sabotage Gil and still stay above board. Why not? Nixon almost pulled it off.

So in the next few days, or weeks (oh God) , we  will experience a tell-all story on a scale measuring up to but perhaps not quite Watergate.

Go ahead, Robbin’ Robert, tell I’m-just-here-because-Marty’s-covering-after-Holiday-returns-at-Wal-Mart all about your break-ins in all the sections of town.Why stop at billboards? Confess that you broke into Gil’s office and stole his recorded conversations on Dial-a-Slut and you were going to blackmail him later on. Better yet, HANG ON to those tapes and build up the drama, citing Equipment Manager’s privilege the way Nixon cited Executive privilege when he refused to hand in his own tapes. For all we know, those tapes may be something other than Gil’s lewd comments to some grad student on the other end trying to pay the bills for her Masters in Psychology by feeding Gil’s ego.

“Woman, I’d really love to sink my wim wim into your Grand Canyon and climb onto your boobs and-YOUR CHEATIN’ HEEEEARRRRRRRRTTTT, WILL MAKE YOU WEARYYYYYYYYYYYY, YOUR CHEATIN’ HEARRRRRRRRRRTTTTT, WILL TELL ON YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU”

Why be satisfied with Gil’s office? Bust into Dr. Pearl’s office and find out what she said on the Astrology Line. One can imagine (“I’m a Capricorn. Are they up for Administrator of the Year? I can retire early and not have to put up with Gil calling me at 1:30 AM, talking about my boobs. Doesn’t Gil get enough from Mimi’s water balloons? Tell me, O Great Gazoo”) .

Hell, bust into The Bucket after hours. Just grab a sizeable stone and chip away at the lock on the door, then break in and get all the recipes and trade secrets. A typical reaction might include

“They obtain banana split ice cream from goats in the Kashmir region?”

“Bucket Cheeseburgers are made from exported kangaroo meat out of Northern Territory, Australia? Straight from Darwin to Milford via Easter Island?”

“Bell hops are supposed to be virgins and are docked an hour’s pay for every child out of wedlock?”

“Mimi rejected The Bucket owner’s advances when she was a teenager working as a bell hop and got transferred to the Large Pots and Corningware Department where her duties were scrubbing the large pots and pans with Beetle Bailey and Zero, out of retaliation from the owner? Couldn’t have been all bad, Mimi bought some plastic teeth from Milford Novelty and affectionately posed with Zero in a group photo along with Beetle before she went on to College.”

“The French fries are really llama’s entrails from the Atacama region of South America?”

“Crunchy chocolate frogs are made from real frog bones?” Whoopsy daisy, Robbin’
Robert, you’ve stepped into Monty Python territory. Better get out of the labyrinth before the Minotaur comes to call.

 

With help from an anonymous friend who supplied the ideas and kept eggin’ it on, the one about people hocking merchandise at Christmas parties, a taste of which I gave you last week,

A more realistic scenario would go like this

‘MOON!!!!!!!!!!! You get outscooped by the Daily Blab one more time over Little Lotta failing her urine test for heroin at school again and it’ll be the last time cuz you’ll be out of a job. And where’s that divorce report over Richie Rich and Little Dot? I understand she wanted Rich’s gold-plated swimming pool in the shape of a dot. Says she has a hunkering for anything round. Eats hamburgers with Jughead because hamburgers are not shaped like trapezoids or rhombuses or ovids but DOTS!!!!!!!! Even her toilet paper is dot-shaped. Wipes her ass all the time with it. Charmin is comin’ out with a new product line as a result.”

“Crap, I left it in the trunk.”

“Your job will be in the trunk if that happens again!!!!!!!!!!! Now here’s your chance to make me happy. Seems that Howry is amassing a chemical dump behind Milford Foundry and trying to put the finger on Gil. A source was in a tree watching Howry finger-paint with toxic chemicals ‘Gil was here’. C’mon, less chatter, more matter!!!!!!!!!!”

“On it, Chief.”

“And don’t call me Chief!!!!!!!!!!!”

Marty looks through his desk drawers for his steno pad, opening his big drawer first which is crammed with 3-Liter Diet Mudlar-K-Cola bottles from the ‘DIG Christmas party. Ditto the cotto salami block, half-eaten, slightly moldy. He searches the smaller drawer above the biggie. Nothing but a Tupperware flat bowl of cole slaw, some mac and cheese in a paper cereal bowl, and a few Slim Jims, Jalapeno and Sea Salt, bent to accommodate the shape of the drawer. Oh, and 1,354,578 Smarties. Marty prays some kid will never come snooping and open the drawer and get deluged with Smarties and drown or the Slim Jim snake springs up out of nowhere and attacks the kid. Wouldn’t that be a lawsuit for The Shark to handle.

He then turns to his middle drawer. What a smorgasbord. Between erasers and paper clips and his yearbook photo he clipped out of the Milford HS yearbook, held for posterity at the Milford Library Archives section because he lost his own, are 2-for-1 Lays Potato Chip mini-bags, ranging from Bar-B-Q to Sour Cream to Poplar-Tree-Behind-Gil’s-Office-Smoked, 124 10-packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, 3-day-old pasta salad with turnips and Amish potato salad, reduced fat. Marty is about to indulge in one of the Snickers Fire-Roasted Peanuts Candy Bar when he feels a wedgie in his butt.

He yanks out his steno pad while eating Kellogg’s Special K Prune Formula that fell out of Fibber McGee’s closet and they both consequently share, using separate bowls of course. BTW, Fibber pours 2% while Marty has a hunkering for Milford Dairies White Chocolate Reduced Flavor. Different strokes for different folks.

A shout-out goes to Lakena (la-KEEN-a) Kraft of Louisville, Kentucky. Lakena, you have an infectious smile and I can tell you have the joy of the Lord. I thank you for encouraging my warped sense of humor. You helped set the stage today with your enthusiasm and that’s the way you approach life and SHOULD approach life. Geting up early to face the day tells me you are taking the tiger by the tail. It’s how things get done. They need ya in Heaven.

 

And does ANYBODY notice the pile Gil is throwing the today’s Milford Star on? It could be scouting reports OR it could be MORE newspapers? What if I’m right? The Milford Star and the Milford Enquirer has been getting the lowdown on Gil’s coaching career, or for that matter, HIS LIFE, once a week or EVERY DAY?????? I’m curious what the headlines would read that he’s been so nonchalantly tossing to the wind.

“Thorp Cleared In Sexual Harassment Suit With Dr. Pearl!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil Spots A UFO While Taking A Potty Break In Outhouse At Mudlark Lake!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil Said He Bitch-Slapped Chitwood Only Once!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil And Basketball Referee Break It Off After Suspicions Are Aroused!!!!!!!!!!!!”\

“The Bucket Denies Half A Roach Was Found In Gil’s Bucket PB & J!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

Then there’s the medical term Gil and the rest of Thorpiverse is trying to throw at us, hoping we’ll genuflect in awe. Having a medical doctor in the family, this writer is not easily swayed.

“So Gil, do you think Howry has dopamin stored in his garage?”

“No, he sold that at a yard sale last Saturday. I heard he was trying to get Filion high on epiniphrine. You snort it like a cocaine pipe. You need a week’s supply of Scope to wash out your mouth.”

“Yeah, but I heard he swallowed a bottle of Triavil so he could float and finish his Robby Report on the billboard.”

“If he did, his side effects were nasty. You wind up farting nitroglycerine all over the road.”

“I heard differently. Moon told me he was OD’ing from Underoos.”

“No way. That’s what he was wearing.”

 

Gang, comment away. I’m going to try to get Howry down. Maybe if I can harpoon his Underoos…

 

Dr. Pearl in a Parent-Teacher Conference

“I can proudly say that your Calvin is Harvard material. Why, here’s his board scores right here” as she hands the parents the Tupperware of celery and carrots w/ spinach dip to pore over that she retrieved out of the file cabinet.

 

At The Bucket, The Inspector and the owner have a war of words

“You’re going to have to take the bones out of your Bucket Crunchy Frog Shake.”

“If we took out the bones, it wouldn’t be crunchy now, would it?”

 

Long live Monty Python

January 10, 2019

The Billboards Are Due On Maple Street

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Gil, aren’t we understating THE OBVIOUS????? My Friend, you were just awarded Comment of the Year by the Milford Kiwanis Club. Wanta know who got #2? None other than Marty Moon for stealing Calvin Coolidge’s maxim “I choose not to run”, when Moon was asked if he was interested in the station manager’s job at WDIG after the present manager retires. Suspending people for saying “He plays like elephant poop”  and “Gil has a face that bears a striking resemblance to Dumbo’s butt” on the air can start to wear on you down the years.

Melodramatic??????? Really??????? I don’t know about you, Coach Thorp, but I’m beginning to like Larry, Curly, and Moe run the basketball team.

“Nyuk, nyuk, let’s run that give and go a little faster.’

“Yeah!!!!!! And no dunking on the volleyball net!!!!!!!” BOP!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Well. I was going to get that video lined up for today, “The Radio City Rockettes at the Milford Girls-a-Go Go Club” but the VCR ate the tape and I gotta sort through the spools and that’ll take some time. How ’bout a Twilight Zone episode instead???? I know, I know, watching strip to “New York, New York” accompanied by Coach Shaw on the jazz guitar and Gil on the baritone would have been a fascinating after-Christmas presentation but I KNOW there’s a lot of y’all that love to be Zonin’. Let’s Zone the night away, shall we?

 

I mean, really. Remind me to remind you that this could just be a front. Anyone remember “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes?” Isn’t this just the same difference?

And remember Claude Akins, before he attended Northwestern and majored in Tractor Trailer Technology with a minor in French and went on to pursue a rewarding career driving Kenworth’s on “Movin’ On”, when he appeared on that Twilight Zone episode? Well, gang, guess I shouldn’t give the story away but he WILL figure mightily in the festivities today. He’s taking a break and somebody else is taking his seat in the semi.

“I’mmmmmmm Mr. Mooney and I have driven Freightliners beforrrrreeeeeee.”

Yeah, but looks like you’re having trouble getting it from 4th to 5th gear.”

“I can alllllllwwwayyyysssss call Mrs. Carmichael. She’s been going through the Swift Trucking Schooooooolllllllll when she’s not working at the bannnnkkkkkkkkk.”

 

GIL THORP AND CLAUDE AKINS GO TO THE SAME BARBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Look, Marty, I catch enough of your shit on the radio but this time you’ve gone too far. Some of my best friends watch Claude Akins on ‘B.J. and the Bear’.”

Mimi rushes up, barely missing the Lamar Outdoor Advertising billboard.

“Gil, every other comic strip’s plot has the lights on in its house except for ours. Let’s ask Billy, Jeffy, Dolly, P.J., and Barfy what the deal is. They live one block over.”

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Don’t let them go!!!!!!!!! They’re trying to escape with the rest of E.T.’s friends!!!!!!!!!! I knew you ate too much quiche at The Bucket!!!!!!!!!! I didn’t get suspicious until you insisted to the waitress to start adding Edam cheese!!!!!!!!!!! He’s not as macho as he’s been presenting himself the last 60 years!!!!!!!!”

“That’s not true!!!!!!!!!!! My husband just beat out G. Gordon Liddy to pose for the Marlboro Man when they had to find a replacement after the Marlboro Man died of lung cancer at our basketball game with Tilden!!!!!!!!!”

Claude using his French major to good use

“Arretez-vous!!!!!! Arretez-vous!!!!!!!!! Ne soyez pas malade!!!!!!!!!!”

“Claude, we’re not crazy but Gil goes to Fine Cuts. His barber died of a heart attack last year.”

 

 

Kaz’s earring is wired in gaudy

And Gil’s hair is combed out wrong

You better take off this masquerade

Cuz this stupid plot

Is too lonnnngggggggggggg

 

A little Procul Harum for those of you listening while you’re going down the elevator. “Homburg” is the tune, you whippersnappers.

 

BUT CLAUDE USES MORE BRYLCREAM THAN GIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Kaz, I don’t even use Brylcream anymore. That went out with the Hula Hoop. I use Vidal Sassoon Extra Hold Deer Scent. You, more than anyone else, oughta know when we hit the Milford Athletic Club what toiletries I use the way you’re always mooching for my Old Spice Watermelon Wonder Soap on a Rope and slapping on my Mennen Cool Mist After Shave behind my back.”

“Look who’s talking!!!!!! If you’re gonna swipe one of my jock straps, will you at least put ’em in your Maytag and wash the damn things, cold cycle preferably????? My doctor diagnosed me with Jock Strap Rub and it keeps me awake at night!!!!!”

“Kaz, between signing contracts for officials for Mimi’s basketball games and helping my kids with their pre-school pre-algebra homework, I don’t always find the time to get the mildew. I have used Lysol in the past. Did you ever try to call around for zebras for Mimi’s 5 basketball games????? I’m lucky to have 2 games under my belt so far. And I had to promise one that Rick would wash his referee shirt after the game.”

Claude intervenes.

“I’ll do one of the games. I have my Middle School License through the High School Athletic Association.”

 

Parents complain about YOU, Gil???????? Coach, from what I’ve heard, they pray 5 times a day facing the Mudlark gym. ANYBODY caught complaining on this strip will have his day in court for, 3-4 months at the max, but we all remember what happened several plots ago when Mr. Promoter tried to plug his nephew and his singing talent. He had his nephew AND Gil on the ropes until the script called for Dad to come in and clean things up. We could have used Santa Claus, Barney Fife, Don Rickles, Ed McMahon to run Mr. Promoter out of town but that’s pressing our luck if we want to make restoring your status half-way believable.

“And now, HEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEE’SSSSSSSS GIL!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Thanks, Ed, good to be restored to the strip. Guess one shitty apple doesn’t spoil the punch. It’s nice to know all the parents and Doc’s band still support me.”

No.

 

 

 

 

MIMI COACHES A BIDDY BALL SCHEDULE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kaz’s girlfriend and Mimi at each other’s throats

“I never put that billboard up but if you’d play some REAL teams instead of those ones you phone out of the Milford Yellow Pages under ‘Social Organizations’, you’d have a couple of championships under your belt, Girl.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t the one to sprinkle extra garlic on the Texas Toast Tomato Souffle when the recipe called for paprika. You could’ve caused a white rhino to sneeze his horn off the way you threw your ingredients on the baking pan.”

“Ladies, ladies, now take it easy. There’s no need to fuss at each other. Just cool down and eat another slice of Texas toast. And pass the pimento peppers.”

Claude takes a bite.

“Ummmmmmm, good!!!!!! Where’d you find the recipe?”

“Oh, my great-grandmother baked them for the GI’s when she was a WAC, she-”

BBBRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Sorry, Ladies. Anybody got a Tums?”

“PHEWWWW, Claude, you’re gonna start a riot if you don’t get back on that spaceship with Gazoo.”

 

 

The funky-looking tree behind Gil saying “Hi Mom” is due in Gil’s office on Maple Street.

‘Nuff said.

 

 

 

MARTY MOON STAPLES HIS GOATEE ON HIS FACE BECAUSE HE RAN OUT OF EPOXY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Peaches, that was a pretty low blow. I know I may have a flat tire when we go to bed that needs to be pumped up to at least 35 pounds PSI but leave my Leon Trotsky look alone. He’s my idol. In fact, Mr. Mooney is trying to sport one just like this to intimidate Lucy Carmichael into working faster.”

“Darling, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yeah, you need a Breathalyzer Test done on your wim-wim but I don’t even have a stapler. You’re just being your usual paranoic self. Happiness is so unreal and love you definitely cannot feel, not with that steroid-starving specimen.”

“Claude, isn’t this your time to intervene? The Twilight Zone is about to end and Rod Serling is due anytime now to step to the plate.”

“Marty, you suck. Ain’t no way I’m standing up for a guy who skipped his group therapy session at the Milford Men’s Clinic. I’m shovin’ off in my truck after Will is done showering in the cab.”

 

Gang, raise your hand if you’re tired of the North By Northwest shot in P3. Don’t you just love the Transitive Property of Equality being employed while Cary Grant is hanging off of Kaz’s left nostril? Don’t think Hitchcock was THAT innovative.

So let’s go ahead and work out the logic while Hitchcock devises a way for Cary Grant to get down (“We could try an escalator. It worked when ELO did ‘Xanadu’. Think of the majesty and grandiloquence of the concept.” “YEAH!!!!!!! THAT’S IT!!!!!!!! Anybody have Jeff Lynne’s number?”) .

 

Only smarmy pricks who went to the DeVry Institute to major in Refrigerator Electronics because a Milford High School diploma was only going to get you a job at the Milford 7-11 can afford to stage malicious billboard messages.

Bobby Howry a/k/a Robert Howry a/k/a Claude Akins’ Evil Twin is a smarmy prick who went to the DeVry Institute to major in Refrigerator Technology because a Milford High School diploma was only going to get you a job at the Milford 7-11.

Quod Erat Demonstratum

Bobby Howry a/k/a Robert Howry a/k/a Claude Akins’ Evil Twin can afford to stage malicious billboard messages.

 

I think we have narrowed down our culprit. We know does not refer to Felix the Cat. Don’t bother. I checked.

 

DR. PEARL DOES HER SOPHOMORE ATTENDANCE REPORTS FOR JANUARY IN THE RAW!!!!!!!!!!!

“Ms. Rizk, I know I’ve been encouraging you to get your head out of that typewriter but honestly, did you have to resort to desperate measures to get a little sunshine?????? You ever try to go to the Milford Tanning Clinic?????? You’d be browner and my reputation would be intact.”

“Mrs. Clampett, I have no clue what you’re talking about. If you would have backed me when I had that run-in with Beaudry’s parents after I’d flunked him, there’d be no need for this conversation. Why would I waste my time insulting you on a billboard when I can say to your face that Mrs. Butterworth and you put fillers in their bras?”

“WELL!!!!!! Sonny-”

“Claude, ma’am.”

“Sonny, Claude, Red Sovine, whatever, I just want to get a Honeywell Word Processor and smash her head!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Oh, don’t do that. Mz. Rizk, I’m sorry, I gotta call it like I see it. I’m getting erect for Granny Clampett right now. Her beehive and her false bicuspids are just sending blood through my dick. No need for an ED commercial here. Would you mind leaving the office?”

“Oh, Claude, you say the sexiest things. So you graduated from Northwestern…”

 

Gang, some of you have already commented away and I thank you MIGHTILY for the support and the discussion has been TERRIFIC so far. If ya wanna jump in, have at it. Democracy works, gang. Keep it going so we ALL can breathe.

 

“Wow, Gazoo, you were right. Just put up a few billboards and the next thing you know, the Governor has to call out the Guard on Milford.”

“Yes, yes, my slinky friend. I used the same technique in Bedrock. When I put up a sign that said FRED FLINTSTONE AND MR. SLATE ARE IN A SAME SEX RELATIONSHIP AT THE BEDROCK QUARRY, Barney and Fred were shooting their air-powered rifles at each other in their respective backyards. And Bedrock shared a similar fate with Macchu Pichu.”

“Looks to me like Coach Thorp will get voted out by the survivors and that Kaz will move to West Beverly Hills High School where Dylan Mckay will be his only problem child. And he doesn’t even play basketball.”

“Oh, Coach Thorp is a dum dum. I’ve been telling Dr. Pearl that for years. Maybe now she’ll listen. Want to go for a spin in my UFO? They have a great sushi restaurant on Neptune.”

 

I SHOT COACH SHAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

signed

http://www.anonymouspsychomegalomaniac.com

 

“I got a run to Salt Lake City and Will’s been driving for 16 hours!!!!!!!!! One intervention at a time!!!!!!!!!!!! You hold off Freddy Krueger and Coach Shaw until I get back, goddammmit!!!!!!!!!”

January 8, 2019

Twin Gils Of Different Plots

Filed under: Coach Kaz, freak hands, Kelly Krystek, Pissy faced Kaz, Prairie Style Windows — tdrewhardin @ 1:25 pm

 

Every morning

We pick up the Post

We hope the plot im-proves

But it never does

 

So you take some sucker

And milk this thing dry

Try to help the schmuck from reeling

Into plot awry

 

Buttttt

Once upon a time

You had a strip that was runnin’ fine

When all the others

Simply don’t compare

 

You’re out of your mind

But once upon a time

You had us thereeeeeee

 

(Sweet guitar interlude)

 

Every morning

You shake out your hair

Thinking this plot’s got some flair

But it never does

 

So you take the excerpts

From Nancy and Sluggo

Prince Valiant and Pogo

And some Alley-Oop

 

Buuuutttttttt

 

Once upon a time

The strip was runnin’ mighty fine

When even Mark Trail did not dare compare

You’ve contracted I Me Mine

But once upon a time

You had us therrrrrrrrreeeeeeeee

 

 

Okay, Dan Fogelberg off my chest, is SPECTRE involved in getting Gil out the door? Otherwise, what in the world is the deal with these billboards? You mean, Moonraker hasn’t heard of school board meetings? Dr. No splats his messages on billboards on some god-forsaken highway from Hell when he could just as easily aim a Stealth bomber from Mt. Milford, his hideout, and X out the Mudlarks if he wasn’t satisified with Gil’s coaching? Really, if he’s above parliamentary procedure, he DOES possess the wherewithal for world domination, why let Madison Avenue carry out his dastardly deeds? He sends some teenage flunky to announce he’s going to annihilate Milford if his demands aren’t met to pave the way for Goldfinger to be the coach? Dammit, Dr. No, open up your volcano and pour hot molten lava all over WDIG studios and be done with it. I promise, Dr. Pearl will swear in Blofeld as the coach at the earliest convenience. Once all the hallways are clear of magma after Luhm’s 317th time of running the buffer, of course. Sometimes, magma is hard to come out of a tile floor. The point is, since when did YOU go by the book to achieve world domination?  Then 007 would be out of a job and forced to work with Luhm. I hope Mr. Bond has a toilet plunger in his Aston Martin

 

 

Then there’s the story today. Are we sure we’re not reading “Cat in the Hat”?

“Madam, so sorry that you misunderstood

This billboard in the neighborhood

I’m sorry if we don’t give a damn

We’d have a better answer for green eggs and ham

May we leave?”

 

You talk about dumbing down a plot. Mr. Not My Job #1 and Mr. Not My Job #2 in their Ninja outfits with their Sinclair logo on their hats just about epitomizes the basketball plot so far and are really in the wrong comic strip. Thorpiverse, leave Cookie’s attitude in Beetle Bailey. We don’t need Cookie making another batch of spaghetti out of Converse LeBron James Signature NBA sneakers shoe strings because, what the hell, General Halftrack will never know the difference. He wears dentures anyway and takes Kaopectate for an after-dinner mint. And TWO COOKIES AT CAMP SWAMPY??????? The pantry will run out of plimsolls making Spaghetti O’s. At least send one of them over to Dagwood to be Dagwood’s butcher who consequently runs up a bill on Oscar Meyer Bologna (“$21.00 on 4 slices???? Exact change???”) just to piss off Dagwood and his neighbor, Herb Woodley. Hell, I’ll compromise and let you jack up the price of London Broil just to watch Mr. Dithers execute a tarantella. Try me.

But in fairness, Kaz’s girlfriend should know better than to confront Larry the Cable Guy over billboards. His job is just to install the cable, not ask questions who paid for it. Git ‘er done even if installing cable is part of a Marxist plot to take over America. Lenin just wants to know what’s on ESPN. Che Guevara likes to watch “Green Acres” on Nick at Nite. Just git ‘er done.

 

 

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. And Oddjob To Open Haberdashery In Mall Next To Milford Men’s Clinic!!!!!”

sub headline

“Spokesperson announced that O.J. would handle the bookwork while Oddjob will be selling out on the floor.”

 

” I want your full report, my insouciant myrmidons. I’m expecting good news.”

“We attended the hearing, Boss.”

“And?”

“Dr. Pearl tripled Coach Thorp’s salary and gave him the keys to the company car. Milford High School has a contract with Avis Rent-a-Car. He also got the ranch house on Mudlark Lake Resort, rent-free.”

“You failed.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, we failed.”

“This organization does not tolerate failure. I will deal with you later. In the meantime, you may leave.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Flunky #1 and Flunky #2, borrowed from Joker’s gang, who are next door trashing Bruce Wayne’s mansion including raping Aunt Harriet, depart out of Blofeld’s office.

As they make their way to the pedway, Ernst Stavro Blofeld steps on the gas pedal, causing a foot bridge to collapse, dumping Flunky #2 in a pool of piranhas. I’ll spare the blood bath.

“FIRE GIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Flunky #1 looks on in shock, then runs and hides in the Ninja Turtles Econoline van, the one with all the Christmas wrapping paper (“Mom. thanks for the great gift!!!!!!! I’ve3 always wanted a billboard message that says ‘You’re mediocre!!!!!’) . Some orders are not meant to be carried out unless submitted in triplicate by Dr. Pearl or the Milford Athletic Committee.

 

 

A friend of mine related her recent office Christmas party recently that featured people  snatching 2-liters under their dapper dress coat, heaps of turkey, chicken, Waldorf salad, peas, green beans, corn, 3 bean salad, cole slaw, macaroni and cheese, cookies, candy, cranberry salad stashed away in their brief cases, pies and cakes wedged under their laptop in their backpack, topped by Cool Whip (how could you forget?) hidden in their fedoras sooooooooooooooo

Coach Kaz in Dr. Pearl’s office, after she recovered her head out of the sink in the cafeteria

“Coach, I don’t mean to pry but why is there Miracle Whip all over your lesson plans?”

“Would  you believe I got in the middle of a food fight?”

 

 

Then there’s P3. Geez Louise, such a cheap take-off some Hardy Boys Mystery.

“Joe saw the billboard that said ‘Gil Is Running Around On His Wife When He’s Not Doing His Usual Mediocre Job Of Coaching’ and decided to go over to Rambo’s condo, the same condominiums O. J. and Johnny Cochrane inhabit, and see if he was willing to kick some tail. Acting on some tip that it was the Sandinistas and the Viet Cong, Joe and Rambo wanted to napalm the Milford Senior Citizen Center where they were reportedly hiding out.  Frank, using a cooler head, told them to rein in their fanatical impulses until Frank could get Chet Morton’s report on the billboard’s history.

Chet was on the Ultra Slim-Fast diet and it it took sheer willpower to slurp on his Ultra Slim-Fast Strawberry Shake and munch tediously on the Ultra Slim-Fast Nutritional Bar, Chocolate, Raspberry, and Almonds while everybody else was hoggin’ on Cheeseburgers and Paradise at The Bucket, not to mention banana splits, but if he wanted to remove the portly tag or plump tag or fatter than Freezer Thompson when Thompson is in the ring with Jerry Lawler for a match which is just a warm-up for Lawler and no belts are on the line tag that he received at the beginning of each Hardy Boys Mystery, he’d concentrate on these billboard reports and fax them to Frank ASAP.

Fortunately, Bugs Meany, trying to make restitution after all the doo-doo he shoveled at Encyclopedia Brown, turned up a key clue. He found out from the billboard company, after Bugs slipped the security guard a 20, that the ad before was a Mudlar-K-Cola promo, with Ricky Ricardo displaying his Charles Atlas chest when he wasn’t at Mudlark basketball games second-guessing Gil. The basketball game that made a man out of Ricky. Nutrament does wonders. Anyway, Bugs pointed out that the ad was pulled a month before the due date, in favor of Mudlark Funeral Home, evidently pissing off Ricky mightily. Promoting taxidermy on Principal Ek over kickin’ some bully’s butt at the Mudlark Lake Beach? Bugs could relate. He’d sneak in an ad when no one was lookin’ either. Git’ er done, Bugs. He knew Larry the Cable Guy would aid and abet in that crime.

Bugs was only glad to help as this was part of Milford High School’s In-School Suspension Early Release Program. Bugs Meany was only happy to oblige, sorry now for saying that Sally Kimball’s mom had a Skull & Dagger tattoo on the right cheek of her butt.”

 

 

Day 12

Marty is captured by Tee Hee Johnson. Tee Hee intends to punish Marty Moon for saying that only Dr. Kananga can coach worse than Gil. Out in Milford Nature Area, plenty of room to roam, Tee Hee leads Marty out to a projecting rock, surrounded by a swamp full of alligators. Tee Hee pulls the section with a pulley connecting the rock to the mainland with the Fake Landscape Bug-Resistant Environmentally Friendly Recyclable Bat Retractor, used by Batman when he’s not in the mood to leave the Batcave. Marty is literally up to his neck in alligators.

Marty remembers he has the Bond Radio stuck up his butt that M loaned him (“Heavens, your gluteus maximus is more difficult to store equipment and gadgets than 007’s”) and tugs it out to play all his broadcasts since ’58. The Voice of Milford is  Tarzan of the Jungle and sends the ‘gators back to the Everglades. Now to find Peaches who is in a tiger pit created by Catwoman (“Roooowwwwwwrrrr, I knew this aphrodisiac would make you fall for the fake crab grass!!!!!!!!) .

 

Seven floors below Mt. Milford, Dr. No and Coach Thorp are discussing the latter’s fate, the gentlemen being treated to a feast fit for a king, Dom Perignon and Bucket Cheeseburgers and Bucket Buffalo Fries; Oddjob threatened to throw his hat at the teenaged waitress if she didn’t have the armored vehicle loaded down with The Bucket’s Finest within the hour. Plus a Bucket Crab Cake Sandwich because throwing hats and beheading Dr. Pearl works up an appetite.

“I thought  there might be a place for you within our organization. I could have killed you the first time when you sat Tiki in that football game. You made SPECTRE lose a bundle on the Vegas Line.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I thought you less a fool. Normally when a man gets in my way of total world domination and doubling as the Milford Athletic Director, he pays a steep price”, as Dr. No grabs a Wilson Basketball and squeezes the thing until Dr. No’s Minions go play Nerfhoop with it down by the radioactive pool.

“Make sure they flick their wrists or the ball will hit the back of the iron and land in the shark pit.”

Dr. No is losing his patience.

“Unfortunately, you disappoint me, Coach Thorp. You are nothing but a stupid basketball coach whose luck has run out.”

Dr. No summons his guards, built like Coach Kaz all the way down to the Elvis sideburns and earrings.

“Gentlemen, soften Coach Thorp until he is begging to puke no more. Start by playing Marty Moon’s broadcast of Coach Thorp when he gave away that baseball game in ’95 because he left Sharkey, Junior in too long and the other team won it with a last-minute grand slam.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. ANYTHING BUT MARTY!!!!!!!!!!!! THE BULLPEN WAS SHOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HAD JACKIE HILL ON 2 DAYS REST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!…….”

 

We’re hoping for good things

To lead us along

Maybe sing us a new song

That will keep us sane.

 

That’s only pipe-dreaming

We might as well be screaming

At the top of our lungs

For a trip with Dick and Jane

 

But once upon a time

You had a strip that was going fine

When Hi & Lois simply don’t compare

You’ve really crossed a line

But once upon a time you had us thereeeeeeeeeeeee

 

 

 

Gang, comment away. For your New Year’s resolution please remember to thank a Veteran. I always take 5 minutes out of my schedule to thank at least 1 Veteran. You do it however you feel comfortable doing it but PLEASE do it.

Also. support Small Business. Choose one mom-and-pop operation and call it your own. If everybody would do that, I’m bettin’ Small Business takes America by storm.

Gang, you need to be where everybody knows your name.

 

 

Hugo Drax, after discovering that Gil will not bolt to the NBA and sign an 8-year contract to coach the LA Clippers, is at The Bucket, booth #23 with Jaws and Holly Goodhead with Plan B

“I’ll write a check. I can always rob the Milford Federal Credit Union with you Jaws biting one of the tellers to cover any overdrafts. Now, order 12,000 Liver Cheeseburgers and make sure there’s enough garlic to unstop a cow. Send them, anonymously of course, to Gil’s office. The perfume in the burgers caused Odysseus to crash on the rocks. The same fate awaits Mr. Thorp. I am leaving to go back to the spaceship. See that great harm is done to Coach Thorp’s duodenum.”

 

 

“Sir, Gil is still with the team. There was a players-only meeting after the game and Gil is still the coach.”

“Then I will go to Lord Vader and apologize for the failure. You’re dismissed.”

ZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

“Apology accepted.”

 

 

 

 

Mimi is lovely

The athletes superb

But there’s something about the plots that disturb us

January 2, 2019

Once Again, We Are Confronted With (Select Random Milford Student On The Screen) And His/Her (Select One: Ghosts, Shaky Past, Generic Problems) That Will Supplant (Select One: Football, Basketball, Baseball, Golf or Hockey or Track, Depending On How The Plot Shakes Out For The Latter Three).

 

010319

Gang, looks like we have set aside Snoopy battling the Red Baron in the name of warding off the Commies from billboard vandalism and now we’re plopped in a sudden jerk of direction for the, you guessed it, the soap opera version of the strip. If you can imagine “Days of our Lives” in the middle of “The Sporting News”, you have a firm grasp on the situation at hand.

And to put it in perspective, try imagining Ralph Kramden stepping into Gil’s domain, as long as we’re going to sidestep Dr. Pearl because evidently she spends more time down at the Milford Bingo Parlor rather than running a high school, and talking about Norton’s academic woes causing his bowling average to nosedive. Just try, I know you can do it.

“Gil, you and I have been buddies a long time and I remember when you were cleaning out the tail pipes of the Milford Shuttle Lines and mopping up the bathroom floor and usin’ the toilet plunger to shove a lotta doo-doo through the lines so this should come as no shock.

Norton is flunkin’ Algebra I, just seems to have problems figurin’ out the difference between Addition Property of Equality and Denying The Antecedent and he’s also barely passin’ English Composition III. For some reason, he keeps dangling modifiers and writin’ run-on sentences when he’s doin’ his book report on Ivan Turganev’s “A Sportsman’s Notebook”. And cripes, don’t get me started on U.S. Geography. He still thinks Hawaii is a U.S. possession. I hope to God he don’t answer that we annexed the Yukon Territory or he’s gonna flunk his Finals. He’ll never pick up that spare if he keeps insisting that Puerto Rico has a team in the NBA. It ain’t a state yet, pal.”

“I’ll talk with him. He had to have been the culprit who put the message on that billboard by the truck stop “Mediocrity and Stuckey’s are not alike in fact try the new 10-pound Tenderloin sandwich only $599.”

I suppose it’s better than James Brown’s sister being one of the rest of Milford’s 4,567 teachers who down through the years realize it is a waste of time to travel the pipeline to Principal Ek or Dr. Pearl when there’s a convenient detour leading to Gil’s office. In fact, when you hit the front door ( you didn’t notice the flagman with his “Slow” sign?) , you should see the sign that says “Hallway will be closed from 1958 to the present” due to construction on a better plot. Gang, I’d use an alternate route if it were me, even if I had to go to Luhm’s office which, when you think about it, has become a conduit leading to Gil.

So now we are left to slog through the plot just after a couple of days before we witnessed some Jordanesque moves. I guess we really can’t expect the 4,568 teachers to follow suit, not even perform the layup drills just to humor us, so kick back for some more J.R. Ewing and like it. Maybe after we slam down the antenna down on the boob tube a few times, we MIGHT return to basketball. Jerry Pulver ripping down another rebound without having to worry about seeing the Trinity River in the opening of “Dallas? It could happen.

 

Belated shout-out to Courtney Cooper of Louisville, Kentucky, who, though confined to a wheelchair, was out shopping at Wal-Mart and, boy, did she get her money’s worth. 4 bags and a mini-bag testified to her will to get out and about. Like Dan Fogelberg, her choices were clear and she chose to get busy livin’. Her friend, Angela Flanagan was there to guide her along and she is living herself. Angela is making this life worthwhile through her quiet strength, will, and determination. Both Courtney and Angela represent America through their nuts and bolts approach and IT WORKS. Treat them with respect PLEASE.

 

 

“So the badger says to the mushroom, ‘I can go down the hole faster than you can say ‘Hank Finkel’, morel.’

‘Big friggin’ deal’, replied the mushroom, ‘We run the Mushroom Marriott Suites at the tectonic level, rates starting at $57.99 and up, and we also serve Cheerios and Fruit Loops for breakfast while the Milford Holiday Inn doesn’t even serve Cocoa Puffs. I didn’t see you bring your Samsonite!!!!!!!!'”

The Milford Comedy Club ran out of onion rings and are forced to fix up a batch of bagels and lox.

 

“…a zebra from Madagascar???????”

 

If yore pickup has more giddy-up and stop than a dangling modifier cuz yore transmission don’t even run on a sentence, let alone a bottle of Dasani and ya bypass AAMCO ta have Merle and Geech have a look at it, ya might be a redneck.

 

 

CANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACH

GOLF COURSE GOLF COURSE

ERNIE AND HIS PARRRRRROOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTT

 

“Dag nab it, Kaz, didn’t I tell you to keep Moon out? If he sees our basketball players going down holes, we’ve got a lot of explaining to do. I wanted to keep this aerobics class a secret to motivate my players without attracting a lot of publicity.”

“Gil, I tried but he snuck through the vents. He used one of the holes to climb up the chute. I caught his camera just about when the team was aerobicizing to

FILION’S DEMMMMMMMMMOOOOOONNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

 

And while I’m enjoying Mrs. Living in America express her concerns over Filion’s funk, I wouldn’t put it past Thorpiverse to turn this basketball plot into “Invasion of The Body Snatchers.”

“Gil, he used to be able to dunk with two hands but now he can’t even thrown down on a Nerfhoop. Something’s different about him.”

Think about it. Thorpiverse desperate for ratings, attempts a new twist to the plot in the name of bringing back part of the audience who switched over to Roscoe Sweeney. There’s more of a chance of him and Buzz Sawyer playing one-on-one basketball in Sawyer’s driveway than perhaps the next few panels of this strip. I thought I’d never say that but as Dylan said, the times are definitely changin’. So the next thing you know, a pod appears beside Gil’s bed and essentially strangulates Gil and he becomes like Filion and the body-snatching of Milford is complete. Everybody’s got that monotone personality and they screech like an owl when they confront someone who is still human.

Now what do you do?

Invent some antidote, pick up the prescription at Milford Pharmacy, revive the players and incite them to go on to kick some A in the Playdowns and eventually bag another State Championship trophy. Hey, there was an antidote in Snow White. Maybe leave a couple of stragglers, say, Tiki, i.e., keep his pod by his bed, let him be an outcast for a few months and repeat the process in baseball. Instant plot renewal. You can retrieve the fan base once again and still win. In the bag.

 

Gang, remember when the episode on “Happy Days” where Richie Cunningham is trying to get Clarabelle the Clown’s face without his makeup? Like the group Kiss, their makeup was their persona and raison d’etre.

That said, Richie contrives a plot where he’s going to enter the Howdy Doody look-Alike Contest and by getting close enough to the action by being on the premises where he cango behind the scenes, he reasons that he has an excellent chance of photographing Clarabelle without his facade.

Of course, he has to get past the contest per se and the idea of Richie’s standing next to 3 8-year-old boys, all in their Howdy outfits is hilarious when you imagine the discrepancy. Cowboy Bob walks by each contestant to register the amount of applause each contestant gets and when he gets to Richie, the audience understandably applauds with a great amount of incredulity but nowhere near the level of the other three boys.

Still, winning the contest was not the intention, sorta like a Milford Baseball player on some Little League team in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, the team going on to win the World Championship. I’m sure he’d be uncomfortable posing with them, sorta like posing with the Rockettes. Anyway, Richie gets consoled by Cowboy Bob backstage which Richie takes in stride, really, what choice does he have? Especially when Cowboy Bob STILL appears to be oblivious to Richie’s intentions (“Kaz, why is Richie the C taking that basketball rack full of basketballs out to his station wagon?”) .

Suddenly, Richie spots his window of opportunity. Clarabelle the Clown has his makeup COMPLETELY OFF which gets Richie to grab his camera and get a bulls-eye shoot. He runs out of the studio with his prize possession.

In the next scene, Richie is with his parents, bragging about how Life Magazine had been unsuccessfully banging at the door to get his unmasked mug before the world. Richie is in hog heaven when he hears the doorbell ring. it’s Cowboy Bob and Clarabelle the Clown, the latter back in his makeup. And after the intros, Cowboy Bob tugs at Richie’s heart by explaining that if Clarabelle the Clown was ever unmasked, it would be the end of him, like The Joker revealing to the world that Batman is really Bruce Wayne. Richie swallows hard but decides in the end, perhaps wisely enough, to tear up the photograph. Tears of joy come out of Clarabelle the Clown  as Cowboy Bob observes (“All over the living room floor”-Mrs. Cunningham) .

Before we go any further, nobody questioned Richie’s motives when he was clearly a head above the competition? I mean, If Kareem were to enter the same contest and stand next to the same three boys, I’d be wondering what a guy 4 feet taller than the other guys in the room has up[his sleeve. The TV producer or the key grip or the #2 cameraman or even Cowboy Bob just lets Kareem participate anyway?

And where’s he going to put the Howdy trophy if he wins? In the trophy case next to his 1971 MVP Trophy? He’ll tell his grandkids that he slam-dunked Dennis the Menace because Dennis had blond hair and Howdy Doody had a thing for his afro? Cowboy Bob had considered converting to Islam and changing his moniker to Cowboy Shareef Abdul-Aziz?

Then there’s the camera. If a 7-footer with a Polaroid carries it past security and stashes it in the guest locker next to Clarabelle the Clown, knowing the latter is high risk, somebody at WDIG Studios where they hold the show oughta fire the Pinkertons.

“Well, Kareem, I knew you had it in ya. Congratulations!!!!!!!!!”

“Thanks. I was a little worried because Tommy Heinsohn did a nice job with that Revlon painting freckles on himself. But I was confident.”

“And well you should. And that Hank Finkel had no chance. Those Dingo Boots and that Arrow shirt just didn’t cut it. And he got tangled up in his own Howdy strings trying to get a drink of water. You were most definitely a cut above.”

“Thanks, Cowboy Bob.” They shake hands and part ways.

Kareem sees the kill. Headin’ to the locker and

FFFLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

At the L.A. Forum one day

“…Kareem, it’d be like Freddy Krueger chopping of your right arm with an axe so you couldn’t shoot the Sky Hook…”

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Places 3rd In The Howdy Doody Look-Alike Contest!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Luhm’s grandsons finish 1-2 in day-long event; Marty Moon disqualified due to goatee.”

 

Gang, have at it. Nothing like Kaz to weigh in when he has nothing better to do than add to the Body Snatcher discussion when he’s not Rent-A-Teacher. Really, Gil could have asked the other 4,566 teachers at Milford High about that pod in Filion’s locker but might have been repelled by Spicoli’s reefer odors in the adjoining locker. So when you’re worried that Filion turns into a zombie, just bail out and go to Kaz and pump some information.

“Kaz, I heard rumors that Filion ate one of the cafeteria ladies.”

“New one on me, Gil. I did notice him snortin’ with Spicoli out in his van but everybody reported for work in the cafeteria.”

 

Finally, I noticed that the world’s (reportedly) oldest human at 120-something was really a sham, her 99-year-old daughter evidently picking up the slack. You can understand my decision to stay neutral in this one.

“No, I saw her down at The Bucket sitting in the Senior Citizen’s Section, chowin’ down on a Bucket Liver Cheeseburger that she got with her Bucket Senior Discount, 15% off one of those babies. I know because I remember she couldn’t drink Mudlar-K-Cola Cherry Burst because the cherry formula would leave permanent stains on her dentures. Had to resort to milk.”

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Milford Historical Society Doubts Authenticity Of Gil’s Having Had Lunch At The Bucket With Chester A. Arthur.”

sub headline

“Documents confirm that The Bucket was established during Cleveland’s 2nd term; sources also point out that Dr. Pearl was a 9-year-old attending Milford Normal School.”

January 1, 2019

I’ll Go Mow The Front Lawn, You Go Save Your Par

010119

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO!!!!!!!!

 

You auctioned off the football plot

And watched a lot of movies

Then let a Bozo joke with the team

 

Basketball is for the birds

There’s no such thing as Larry Bird

The Mudlark 5 are gonna get reamed

 

I’ll go call a time out

While you watch Dickie V

 

Where is my Norman Dale

Where is my Bobby Knight

Where is my Jim Valvano

Where have all the coaches gonnnnnnneeeeeeeeee

 

The TWIMers are in revolt. They’re mad as Hell and not gonna take anymore.

JUST when we thought Gil was going to come out of retirement and COACH after a short stint as a clothier at Milford Big and Tall (the suits made good advertising, Coach) , we find ourselves with deja vu all over again. When he exhorted the troops the other day with advice my nephew would have received when his high school freshman basketball team was in a similar situation and score, I was praying Gil had seen the errors of his ways and was gonna lead the troops into battle. Talk about Benedict Arnold.

 

 

Gang, with the help of Joe Szerletich, I just developed this idea from this video that will absolutely drive you nuts if you keep playing it. Next time  we go to war and we wish to brainwash the enemy into capitalism, I couldn’t think of a better way of erasing the mind with this throbbing, mindless spiel.

 

BADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGER,

The badgers sinking in the ground as each one is called out then

MUSHROOM MUSHROOM

Comedy relief, evidently

SNAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEE

evidently to break up the monotony or you’d be a Viet Cong guerilla by the end of the ditty.

Get the idea?

Okay

 

GILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORP

MS. RIZK MS. RIZK

MARTYYYYYYYYYYYYYMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN

 

It almost worked but the Mudlark gym ran out of holes and finally Dr. Pearl had to put her foot down. On the gym floor, of course.

 

And nobody can convince me that basketball action is composed of players returning to WHAT WE THINK is the locker room and even then when did a locker room need a neon sign to direct the players in the proper direction? Sure, If you visit Vegas, there’s plenty of glitter and glitz but people know where the machines are.

“Where’s the croupier? And the roulette wheel? I was on a roll and my wallet is stuffed with greens and I don’t mean collared greens.”

“Sir, you’re at a Burger King. You missed it by a light.”

That’s right, Thorpiverse, install the element of surprise and keep us guessing. Add some mystery and hope to God we don’t notice GIL AIN’T COACHING!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, Gil must have used another sick day but is that ROCKER???? Why would players be heading towards an Aerosmith concert in their gym shorts??? Is that SOCKER????? Somebody can’t spell SOCCER. Is that DOCKER?????? Don’t see Milford Outlet Mall around. Well, there’s only 23 other letters in the alphabet and it can’t be QUOCKER or OOCKER. Damn, I think they’re going to the LOCKER to change clothes. I’ve never known the Indiana Hoosiers or the Kentucky Wildcats to change into their DOCKERS in an AOCKER. Or EOCKER (that sounds like a Greek philosopher who debated with Socrotes at the Agora. Was he the one who issued him the hemlock?) .

And we’re distracted with this spelling bee to distract us from the real problem, GIL AIN’T COACHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What a POCKER.

 

5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME

HOMER OFFICIALS HOMER OFFICIALS

STINKY PLOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Gil at Milford Comedy Club on Open Mike Night

“…panda bear from Laos??????????”

Dead quiet in the place. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.

Gil reaches for his other pocket. Pulls out Plan B

“Hey, Ladies and Gents, I was in my office when one of the cameo coaches came in and said ‘Coach, I need more work than a film session watching Heather Burns boss around the offensive coordinator (“Run an end-around on 4th and 8? Who hired you?”) . I really haven’t had a bite in 3 days.’ Know what I did?”

People are chowin’ down on the onion rings, dipping them in the marinara sauce

“I bit him!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

They continue dipping, this time in the bar-b-q sauce

“Ladies and Germs, know what ya get when ya transfer this basketball plot to Camp Pendleton? Gomer’s pile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“All The Things You Are”, sung by Chet Baker suddenly blares on the intercom.

Next time, Gil.

 

 

 

Your coaching’s in absentia

Your defense schemes demented

The gym just ran a flea market gig

 

I put on my seersucker

Whistled to the players

X and O’s I diagrammed big

 

I’ll go call the Give and Go

You order Domino’s

 

Where is my Norman Dale

Where is my Bobby Knight

Where is my senile Hank Iba

Where have all the coaches gonnnnnnnneeeeeee

 

I designed a Picket Fence

For an easy slam

And you didn’t even

Notice ittttttttttttt (Was a face job)

ttttttttttttttttttttttt  (Was a poster shot)

tttttttttttttttttttttttt (Set the picks right)

tttttttttttttttttttttttt (Crowd was mummified)

 

Because I don’t understand, when reading in a quiz online, that one of the answers for what an ox eats regularly was a tuna fish sandwich

 

“So the ox walks into the bistro and orders a tuna sandwich with Julien fries and a Choc-ola. He slurps the Choc-ola, scarfs the Julien fries and then yanks a can of out-dated Star-Kist Tuna out of his horn. When Charlie the Tuna the Waiter accosted him, he asked, “Arent you going to eat your sandwich? Why are you eating from that can?”

And the ox replied, “Sorry, Charlie, but only oxen eat the best-tasting tuna which they can drag from their horn or tail or butt or tetlock that gets to be Star-Kist. Did you ever consider feeding my sandwich to the goldfish in your aquarium? I’m sure they’re tired of Ensure Fish Formula.”

The audience just ordered another round of onion rings. This is gonna be a long night. Bad comedians usually require 4 rounds before he gets the hint but Gil might need the loading dock.

And good God there’s P2 and P3. Are we due for ANOTHER Keystone Kop adventure where we just go ’round and ’round for a while that will deliver another tepid inconclusive ending? Football did a wonderful job of that. We never knew what happened the rest of the season although for the consolation prize we learn that Tiki didn’t live in a shtetl after all. Man, if this were Snow White, the Prince would be kissing the evil stepmother in the end. Gang, I don’t know about you but if Mimi was lying In State on some catafalque in Gil’s back yard, I’m sure Gil wouldn’t call Marty over to awaken her with a kiss, even if Marty used Scope. Really, snakes devouring Breath-Mints just doesn’t stem the odor of stinky plots.

Now that we know that The Milford Star is the cross-town rival of the Milford Enquirer, we are introduced to 2 gentlemen we’ve never seen before and so what else is new. Us TWIMers are used to our mothers-in-law dropping in every other day so when we’re about to sit down to dinner, Mommy Dearest barges in with her Chinet Paper Plate.

I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Slightly-Overweight-And-Should-Moderately-Reduce-Twinkie-Intake-But-Blu-Blocker-Grandpa-Glasses-Is-So-Joe-Cool is the editor and Coach Shaw’s younger brother is a reporter. Why send the janitor out to do some fact-finding?

And I’d be curious too. But where the Hell are you going to look FIRST???? In the deep fryer cage at The Bucket??? Ernie’s parrot???? I’ll bet that parrot can squawk a lot of info if you feed him enough Ritz’s Bitz. Lassie?????

“Okay, Lassie, who did those billboards????”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Outdoor Advertising?????? I thought they went out of business.”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!”

“I didn’t know they were part of the bailout involving General Motors.”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!”

“And some kid with Glasses slipped a 100 to cover the Wal-Mart promo??????”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!”

“200. My bad. I’m gettin’ hard of hearing.”

And the next 2 panels indicate that basketball ONCE AGAIN will take a back seat to Lou Grant. Can we at least bring back Mary Tyler Moore for comedy relief because we’re gonna need it.

Really, what are you gonna say to the State Trooper if he catches you up in the billboard, snooping for some clues????? But as Little Bro Shaw says, news is in the eye of the editor. We just wish those eyes were in, say, Mary Worth, and we could get on with BASKETBALL. Coach, you know, the one Naismith invented? You’re still taking the ball out of the peach basket.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Milford Farmer’s Cooperative Disputes Research Findings Over Cattle Eating Star-Kist Tuna!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Co-op says grain-fed beef is healthier and meatier than tuna-fed beef.”

 

“Honnnnneyyyyyy, I’m hanging a mistletoe over you. You know what THAT means!!!!!!!”

Coach Shaw is reading an article in Milford Outdoors about Marty Moon. Priming himself for another upcoming episode in Milford Nature Area, Marty was taking target practice on some dead skunk’s butt at the Milford Conservation Club before Coach Shaw was forced to look up.

If it means he can find out if they at least cleaned out the skunk’s innards before taping a bulls-eye on his derriere, he will gladly pucker up.

SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pretty satisfied himself, he learns that Marty wasn’t legally registered with that paintball gun and must buy a temporary permit at the Club’s business office.

But then there’s Round 2. And it’s not a puny mistletoe flagellating over him. It’s one of the logs in the log rack that was modeled after a Brunswick T Zone Caribbean Blue Bowling Ball. She has to use an engine hoist to hang the log over his head but whatever works.

Coach Shaw, annoyed at his inability to find out if the park ranger would issue fines, looks around to see where the pulley noise is coming  from.

Then he looked up.

A gigantic pin oak log is barely 3 inches from his head.

“Darlin’, what in the name of cameo coaches are you doing?”

“Honey, I lifted the log over your wittle head to symbolize I wanted a wittle more in our relationship. Much more, my wittle wee-wee boy.”

Ignoring the petulant baby talk,

“Dear, do you have to act like a lumberjack to get a kiss? I don’t feel like smooching with the Brawny guy.”

“Actually, this Brawny girl wants more than a kiss. I want us to come to beddie-weddie so the Brawny Girl can cut some more logs and make some paper towels. Isn’t that FUN???????”

“I’d rather squeeze the Charmin and get my ass chewed out by Mr. Whipple.”

Coach Shaw is fending off the baby talk because his train of thought is in abeyance. He wonders if Marty will also have to buy deer tags.

“Look, can’t it wait? Marty is hanging on a cliff and my heart is racing to see if he has to spend a night in jail. Paintball-splashing without a doe permit is pretty serious stuff.”

“This doe is wanting her 8-point buck to stick one of his points into the doe’s canyon.” She menacingly points the pin oak log at him to literally home the point. The shoe is on the other foot. “Now put down the wittle maga-zeen-ee and wet’s go to bed so the Big Bad Wolf can corrupt his wittle Bambi.”

“I’d rather huff and puff and BLOWABUBBABUBBLEBUBBABUBBLEBUBBABUBBLE Bambi’s house down. Darling, Peaches is trying to get Marty’s dead to the house because he could land in the Federal Pen. Paintball-splashing a chipmunk within 50 feet of the Park Ranger’s built-in swimming pool is pretty serious stuff!!!!!!!!!!!”

“All righty then.” Coach Shaw is suspicious of the change of pitch. Mrs. Shaw pitches the pin oak in the fire. Out of the andirons, she produces a gun. “You force me to desperate measures.”

Coach Shaw is seeing his life before his eyes in Technicolor. He never thought he’d see the day when Dirty Harriet would stick a Magnumnin his crotch or his chest to get sex.

“This is a paintball gun, the most potent weapon to ruin your camouflage outfit. It can splotch paint all over that Milford Gun Club shirt. If I hit it, it will take Borax and the rest of the 11,000 miles to clean the damn thing. Then you have to dry-clean it which is expensive THEN you have to leave it on the clothesline for a week. Your shirt next to your pajamas, the ones with Tom and Jerry on them? And your nightshirt with Droopy on the front? What will your buddies think?”

She is hitting below the belt now. Coach Shaw is panicking. “Now, in all this arguing, I kinda lost count. Was it 5? Or was it 6? Do you feel lucky, Honey?”

Coach Shaw is staring straight down the barrel and thinking. The magazine article or sex with his #2 pencil? The magazine sits in limbo on the coffee table by the M lamp (MTV or Mudlarks, either one.) .

“Well, do you?”

 

“I didn’t want to find out. Some things are just better left investigated by Dirty Harry and Joe Friday. Did you ever see Harry with a pink splotch on his Le Tigre jacket? Therefore, I went to Milford Men’s Clinic pronto because logs are for fires, not subtle hints that someone’s hot flashes are raging hotter than the hearth at Gil’s Christmas party. A mistletoe was simply not going to stem the conflagration in Milford National Forest. I had to fight fire with fire. Now, I’m a French Revolution about to descend on the aristocracy. King Louis XIV never knew what hit him. And Mrs. Louis XIV is having the time of her life, experiencing the most ethereal of sexual pleasures while we both watch the Palace of Versailles burn to the ground.

If you’d like to experience Bastille Day for yourself, come to Milford Men’s Clinic today. Renew the fires in your marriage and keep your own Fruit of the Looms free of orange splotches. Watching the Bay of Pigs invasion with a pair of stainless Hanes is what Milford Men’s Clinic is all about.

Gang, go to it. If you see two people about 100 feet in the air with a magnifying glass, it’s just me and Encyclopedia Brown gathering evidence at the scene of the crime.

 

The players shop for Dockers

Cuz there’s no keys for lockers

You took them on your 2nd honeymoon

 

Your playbook’s really empty

Full of Target liquor ads

No wonder why you hear it from Moon

 

I’ll jump the officials

You go hunt with Shawwwwwwww

 

Where is my Red and his cigar

Where is my Adolph Rupp

Where is ol’ 4 corners, Dean Smith

Where have all the coaches gone

WHERE HAVE ALL THE COACHES GONNNNNEEEEEEEEEE

Attaboy

Way to go

Hit ’em high

Hit ’em low…….

 

“…polar bear from Iceland????”

 

December 26, 2018

This Plot Is Definitely Making Me Laugh

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:38 pm

What. Just. Happened. Do not adjust your set. That was not an earthquake on a Richter Scale of 6.6 that rattled Mudlarkland.

3 PANELS OF BASKETBALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me say it again, slower because I know a few of you are getting up in years. In fact, tighten that grip on your cane.

3!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PANELS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BASKETBALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No soap operas. No political ads (“I’m Gil Thorp and I approve this message”) . No Wheaties commercials (Gil on the golf course after his 7th straight bogey “Man, I got the runs bad. Kaz, do you mind if I let loose behind that sassafras tree? It makes great toilet paper after I’ve flushed myself out.” “Sure, but you didn’t eat your Wheaties, did you?”)

Rodney Dangerfield gettin’ in Jerry Lawler’s face and telling him he’s gotta screw that Sleeper Hold tighter if he wants to pin The Moon Dogs? Man, this is getting to be too much for this old-timer to take. And I’m hung over from imbibating excessive amounts of Milford Valley Chokecherry Non-Alcoholic 100 Proof Wine after partying at Gil’s Kris Kringle Krucifixion. At least let the world stop spinning.

Oh, don’t get excited, gang. Howdy Doody getting in Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s face and then taking one for the team when he’s not entertaining the boys and girls is really not refiring up the engines again at the Indy 500 after somebody’s battery leaked acid all over the track. We FINALLY got basketball but Gil still isn’t doing any coaching. The inmates are still running the prison.

Couldn’t you see the show, kiddies?

“It’s Howdy-Doody time

He’s telling Irb’, it’s time

Get off your ass and climb

The boards, play defense, Grime”

“It’s Howdy-Doody time

Don’t let ’em score, you slime

Tough up your act there, mime

Or you’ll lose playing time.”

 

“You gonna let Clarabelle the Clown dunk on you? No???? Then put a body on him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

 

And this Jordanesque move we’re seeing in P3 is encouraging me!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Pure Basketball!!!!!!!!!!!!! We don’t have to see Mimi run off with Steve Luhm because Luhm was tired of seeing Ms. Rizk’s typewriter collection in her garage and Gil was still having an affair with Dr. Pearl when her husband was at a Jehovah’s Witness Convention and Dr. Pearl cheated on Gil when she was seen sharing a Root Beer Float Bucket down at The Bucket with the director of WDIG while Jed Clampett ran off from Granny by seeing Daffy Duck… Nope, if it looks like a basketball, walks like a basketball, clangs off the rim like a basketball, it AIN’T A VOLLEYBALL. Did you ever see The Hick from French Lick drain a 3 with a beach ball? No??????? Case Closed.

 

If ya git in yore shootin’ partner’s  face cuz ya wuz tired of gittin’ clay pigeons smackin’ yore face cuz yore shootin’ partner couldn’t hit a clay pigeon 3 feet in front of him, ya might be a redneck.

 

 

It is 11:00 P.M. Do you know where your kids are, Gil? (“…sources say that Jaime was last seen riding Dasher and Keri was trying to stay on Blitzen before Santa had to make an emergency landing in Switzerland. We’ll have more as this story develops. Irving R. Levine, reporting from Geneva.”) Anyway, the WDIG News just ended and it’s time to kick back and relax and sip that Milford Dairy Reduced Sodium Cherry Egg Nog while we cuss with the remote and tune to “Make Me Laugh”.

“Couple #3, when was the last time will your wife say that when you made whoopee that you burst into a paroxysm of laughter? Marty?”

“Oh, DEFINITELY when Gil took over for Mimi who had the flu. He snuck Mike Filion in the lineup. Gil bought a wig from Milford Hairy Ideas and plopped it right on Rodney, I mean, Mike. Lordy, he looked like Jo Ann Worley. He almost got away with it but the Ironwood Ingot center swung an elbow towards her, er, his private parts and he sounded too much like Mr. Bill. He couldn’t fake not returning to an alto register. The refs got suspicious and made him drop his shorts. He was permanently barred from the Ironwood locker rooms, girls or boys, because of that.”

“That makes sense. My daughter got clotheslined in her crotch with a hockey stick from an Ironweed 7th-grade Field Hockey Feeder League player and she could still sing Michael Jackson’s ‘P.Y.T.'” as the audience performs its obligatory uproar of laughter. “Well, Peaches answered-”

Doggone it, wrong Bob. I need to go to Milford Electronix to fix this damn thing. All right, here we go

The funky music is rippin’ the joint as Bobby Van does “The Hustle” on his to the center of the stage. The Newleyweds crowd arrives just in time in their seats to provide the canned laughter atmosphere for “Make Me Laugh”.

“Heyyyyyyyyy, gang, welcome to ‘Make Me Laugh’ where if you can keep a straight face in that chair for 3 minutes” while pointing to a seat  with a little wooden guardrail around it “You can win big money and prizes!!!!!!!!!!!” The audience claps vigorously off the cue card. BTW, the guard rail keeps Gil from getting desperate when the contestant isn’t laughing (“COME ON, I’M QUOTING DIRECTLY FROM AL JAFFEE’S ‘SNAPPY ANSWERS TO STUPID QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LAUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) .

“Okey dokey, our next contestant lives right here in Milford. He’s the custodian for WDIG Studios. I understand he cleans out Marty’s ash trays. He told me backstage that Marty has a thing for Muriel Cigars when he’s reading the Better Homes & Gardens report. Man, just don’t kiss up, all I ask (audience uproar again). Let’s welcome Wilbur WHEELWRIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Wilbur meekly walks out on stage and shakes hands with Bobby. The applause dies down.

“All right, Wilbur, you know the rules. If our can stay in that chair and not crack a smile, can’t show them pearly whites, sorry, Man(light laughter from the audience) , then you’ll receive an all-expense-paid trip to Mudlark Lake Resort plus $10,000, but you gotta hold that pose for 3 minutes. If you can’t hold it in and just bust out laughing, well, hey, we won’t send you home empty-handed, you’ll get some nice consolation gifts just for your trouble. Partner, I wouldn’t want to face these Titans of Tickle, these Wonders of Wit. I’d be bustin’ a gut on these Kings of Comedy. And, incidentally, who do we have as our guest comedian? (Audience cackles a bit) Hey!!!! I can’t help it, somebody stole my note card. Maybe Mr. Whipple stole it cuz he ran out of Charmin (audience applauds nice recovery) . So who is it? Seinfeld? Martin Lawrence? Hey, I know!!!!!! Alan King!!!!!!!”

Polite applause comes out of nowhere from the audience as we’re about to learn the truth.

It’s Gil.

Bobby Van, obviously uneasy with the selection, wrinkles his Captain Hook visage back to Smiley face

“ALL!!!!!!! RIGHT!!!!!!!! GIL!!!!!!!!!, way to give it up for him, audience. Gil, I knew you couldn’t coach, you gotta let some Leno character get in a sophomore basketball player’s face cuz you were out on the golf course on Christmas, but you can’t tell jokes either HAHAHAHAHAHAHA” as Bobby Van laughs a gut but then “Ahhhh, just kidding. Hey, Gil, if we can’t kid each other, who can we kid????????”

Coach, trying to recover

“Didn’t you steal that from Tony Rolleti on Fernwood 2Night?”

“Ahhhhhhh, who cares, it’s my show. You think if I stole it from Gumby, Gumby’s producer would call and complain about copyright infringement????? C’mon.”

Audience laughs once again. Gil is speechless, naturally, scratching his ski slope for a retort.

“Gil, there’s your target. Wilbur is daring you!!!!!!!!! Chomping at the bit in that chair. GIL THORP!!!!!!!!!!! MAKE ME LAUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Gil struts over to Wilbur, wishing they would blare “The Peter Gunn Theme” and make him even more of a bad-ass while being the next Tim Allen, although we think “Home Improvement” is safe (“No, Gil, you don’t use a sledge hammer on that pipe underneath the sink”) .

“Hey, Wilbur, how’s it goin’?”

“Fine, Gil. Yourself?”

“Everything’s peachy. Hey, did you hear the one about the elephant in the same Jacuzzi as the impala? The elephant was frantically looking for his rubber ducky. The impala was enjoying observing his fart bubbles mix in with the foam emanating from one of the outlets while listening to U2’s ‘Cedarwood Road’ on his Walkman. The elephant, annoyed by the impala’s lack of concern, blurted out, ‘Can’t you help me find my rubber ducky?????????’ The impala replied, ‘What do I look like??????? An anteater from Uruguay????????'”

The contestant is chillin’ on the chair, on page 733 of “War and Peace”. The audience groans. 2:30 left in the game.

Gil is 3rd and 8. Maybe a draw play would work this time. Fake the audience out, Gil. They might laugh this time and they’ll be moving the chains as a result.

“Okay, it seems this traveling salesman was driving along this country road when his car blew a tire so he had to park it on the shoulder on the road and call AAA in the morning. He spotted a farm and went up to the house and knocked. A farmer and his wife answered and invited him for dinner which the wife had just got ready. After a heapin’ of New York Strip, mashed potatoes, collared greens, Italian Lima Beans, Mel Purnell’s Whole Hog Sausage Barnhouse Medley, a McRib sandwich, with squash pie for desert, the farmer told the salesman that his daughter was looking for a hubby and she might be interested in the salesman. The salesman asked where she was staying, the farmer answered that she was in the barn. When the salesman went out to look, he found out it was The Borden Cow. When the salesman summoned up the gall to introduce himself, obviously uncomfortable, she responded “You’re not my religion. I’m a Primitive Baptist and I only date Polled Herefords.”

Wilbur is on his cell phone, talking to his broker. The audience is getting more restless. A couple of Roma tomatoes are thrown onstage. 2:00 remains on the game clock.

Gil, recognizing 4th and long (very) , ditches his 3 x 5 cards, tearing them into pieces, and throwing them on the floor. Luhm scoots behind Gil to sweep up the debris. A knock-knock joke pops in Gil’s head.

Gil: “Knock, knock.”

Audience: “Who’s there?”

Gil: “Madame.”

Audience: “Madame who?”

Gil: “Madame butt’s caught in the folding bleachers again.”

The audience is in semi-revolt. Shouts of “You can’t even tell jokes, let alone coach!!!!!!!!!!!” while there’s a flurry of Roma tomatoes raining on stage. Thank God, Bobby Van brought his poncho. Wilbur is reading his horoscope in the Milford Enquirer. 1:00 remains on the game clock.

“Hey, you know what’s orange and black and red all over? A Spalding Basketball autographed by Dr. J. that just got pelted with a Roma tomato!!!!!!!!”

Bobby Van just rolls his eyes, wishing W.C. Fields was doing the honors. The audience is at Bastille Day, about to send Sidney Carton to the guillotine. Somebody shouts “BRING BACK BOB KNIGHT!!!!!!!!!”. This was the best of times, this was the worst of times, indeed.

Gil, with :30 on the game clock, is about to cry “Uncle!!!!!!!”

“Oh, Hell, I’m dried up on comedy material. I’m trying to get this basketball plot up and smokin’ because I lost my shirt on the plots we ran before. I had to refinance my vehicles and sign the papers for a reverse mortgage, all through Milford Mortgage and take a 2nd job at Milford Marathon just to make the payments. I take Apu’s place at night. Can’t I even get a snicker?”

The noose is getting tighter around Gil. Wilbur is about to kick the chair and watch him hang. :10 left on the game clock.

“Asshole, I tried to beef up this plot to Stefanie Plum proportions. She and I may have trouble tracking down the psychos all over New Jersey but then we added Bubba Joe Tilwell to the team. He could relate to the wackos. AND we needed some beef down low cuz Irby’s a pussy and we needed a psycho killer of our own. Hell, he gets his jollies off of roasting wieners in the jump circle at half time. And you know WHY?????” Gil at fever pitch, unwittingly. He’s frantically waving that Bible trying  to get the wayward sinner to answer the altar call. “Because this plot’s got sizzle!!!!!!!! It’s got possibilities. In fact, this basketball plot is in the same league as a Tom Clancy thriller. THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER RIGHT HERE IN MILFORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

With 3.4 seconds, Wilbur is puking with laughter, on his hands and knees. Gil struck the chord that tickled the funny bone, even if he had to pull a Homer Simpson to pull it off, i.e., save the town of Springfield and Milford by randomly selecting a button to keep the Milford Nuclear Power Plant from exploding by means of the “Eenie Meenie” method.

Bobby Van steps back in “Awwwwwwwww, Wilbur, you almost made it!!!!!!!!!!!! I couldn’t believe this plot’s worth a darn, either. But, hey, we got a ‘Make Me Laugh” game for you, autographed by Coach Kaz instead, whattya think? That’s all the time we have!!!!!!!! Thanks, everybody, y’all been swell” as the disco closing number reverberates, Gil dancing the Moon Walk while Wilbur is talking to Bobby and Bobby is wiping off some last-minute shards, Luhm splashing Mr. Clean on the floor as the camera fades.

 

Gang, I don’t have a right to say “Comment away” and I apologize for the “Now you See it, Now you don’t” method I’ve been using all day. Phone issues are a pain, but I hate excuses. THANK YOU for your eternal patience. You mean a lot to me.

One person that I forgot to thank is Timbuys. He has helped me for almost a year and has really got the ball rollin’ on this thing. Without his  help, tips, input, contributions, this post would come to nought. Thank you, Tim, and a BIG Happy Holidays. You mean A LOT to me.

 

Gil and Kaz on Hee Haw

“Where o where are you tonight

Why did you leave us here all alone

I searched the world over and thought I found true love

You met another and

THBLOOOOOTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!

You were gone”

 

Don’t quit your day job, gentlemen. You can’t even do that.

 

 

December 25, 2018

I Get To Crash Gil’s Christmas Party This Year-Hooray!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Filed under: Coach Kaz, Gil Thorp, Kelly Krystek, Mimi Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 1:52 am

Xgt12252018

Christmas, gang, Is. Just. Another. Paid. Holiday. When Season’s Greetings from Thorpiverse is not on tap. Vaganova and I have witnessed decades of non-stop action (let me rephrase that) , mainly basketball (Mudlarkland has yet to participate in hockey, curling, or figure skating to this point-Peggy Fleming graduated from Jefferson, according its yearbook) , on normally the 1st 2 panels, only to stop-in-the-name-of-Santa-or-whoever-you-worship in P3 where Gil looks to the camera and wishes everybody Happy Holidays. Breaking the Fourth Estate never executed any better.

No other comic strip can duplicate a Mudlark blowing a dunk and Gil cussing him out in 7 languages, then pose with Mimi and the kids in front of an unknown fireplace (Milford Moose Lodge was the rumor, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade host’s fireplace, the host being Peter Graves as of this writing, had been claimed) , wishing Merry Christmas to all his fans and friends. One year, Gil tried to get Charlie Brown and the rest of the Peanuts gang to appear on the set and shout “Merry Christmas, Charles and Gil!!!!!!!!!”, singing just like in the CB Special “Hark, The Herald Angel Sing”, to round out Charlie Brown AND Gil for a double dip of Christmas excitement, I mean, really, Charlie Brown directing the Christmas pageant featured more action than Gil’s football teams this year. Unfortunately, negotiations stalled with the chief negotiators, Schroeder, Shermy, and Peppermint Patty when they insisted that he’s CHARLIE Brown and not CHARLES Brown. Marty said No Way, Jose, or CHARLES in this case so Gil wound up going on a solo flight this year. Perhaps one year Gil will pose with Loweezy, Snuffy Smith, Tater, Jughaid, Elviney, and Caleb in a group portrait with Santa and his reindeer but that’s another rumor.

And does Marnaduke offer in P1 the thrills and chills of the Celtics-Lakers Finals, Larry Bird trying to go baseline on Magic, or vice versa, with Chick Hearn or Johnny Most proclaiming the Battle of the Titans as Larry or Magic engineers a 180 dunk? Does Pluggers? Ziggy? Please.

Nothing like Kirk Gibson in the ’88 Series, in his only at-bat, BTW, belting that home run off a stunned Dennis Eckersley to the accompaniment of “One Moment in Time” in P1. Then the bottom falls out and you feel like that poor schmuck in “A View to a Kill” being dropped from the zeppelin when P3 suddenly changes the complexion of the strip to “Andy William’s Singaround in Downtown Branson”.

And if you’re beggin’ for another angle after you’ve checked to see if your GAF Viewmaster and the plethora of reels, namely “Gil Thorp Confronts the Mighty Arapahoes at Dinosaur Monument and Challenges Them to a 3-on-3, Call-Your-Own-Fouls Tournament”, has turned up in your stocking, look no further than Don Fischer.

At the 1987 College Basketball Finals against Syracuse, Jerry Pulver to Rodney Filion, aaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Don does it better.

“Pulver in trouble, throws a cross-court pass to Filion. Filion eyes Aardvark down low and sends him a bounce pass. 10 seconds to go on the clock. Aardvark is covered and kicks it out to Keith Smart. 5 seconds to go. One dribble, Smart with the shotGOOOOOOOOO-”

Time out to wish all my friends and fans a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year”, Mimi in the background, like a proud mama, showing off her pumpkin pie that beat Minnie Pearl at the Milford County Fair (Minnie lost points on the price tag on her hat which fell in her rhubarb pie) , while Keri parades her Barbie & Ken Collection at Trump’s Casino and Jaime bounces vigorously his Henry “Hank” Finkel-autographed Spalding basketball.

Again, do you EVER read about this in “Cathy”? Well? Do you?

Carmichael never even heard of Hank Finkel.

 

Shout-out to Edward Potts who works the Valley Station, Kentucky, Meijer Gas Station. His courtesy and respect to the customers runs off on you and really brightens your day. EVERYBODY has a name to him and the clientele feed off of that. As the old saying goes, they don’t pay him enough. Edward, in your case, THEY REALLY DON’T. Treat him with respect next time you walk in there. Lots of it.

LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!! UP IN THE SKY!!!!!!!!!

IT’S A BIRD!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S A PLANE!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S SUPER STRIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s right, gang, forgive me, I was used to the Sports Talk, Sports Talk, Schmaltzy Season’s Greetings format, especially in the times of Berrill. Now it’s been superceded with Sing Around The Campfire. Does Kaz know the Latin version of “In Excelsis Deo”, BTW? Is that EVEN Coach Kaz at all? Does Thorpiverse really expect us to buy into Conan The Barbarian singing “Jingle Bell Rock” with the rest of Josie and the Pussycats? And where’s The Terminator’s stud? Is this even Thorpiverse? Really, I thought we were reading Rex Morgan, M.D. for a microsecond until I saw the Dogs ‘n’ Suds in their hands and realized Dr. Morgan doesn’t eat chili dogs because it gives him congestive heart failure. So Sanka ‘n’ Suds it is. Still a bit iffy on the Thorpiverse perspective but Ovaltine ‘n’ Suds (don’t assume The Terminator is a Maxwell House Man, gang) coming from Coach Kaz’s a/k/a Conan’s cup into my own cup oughta steady the nerves.

Still say Mimi looks like one of Charlie’s Angel’s and I would forgive this slight but then WHERE ARE THE KIDS????????? AT MILFORD DAY CARE CENTER????????? Coach, when you wish to extend Season’s Greetings to your family and friends, you need to have ALL YOUR family for this Hallmark Moment. Don’t send them to Siberia, for cryin’ out loud. Yeah, right, Jaime is out with the penguins in the South Pole riding his new bicycle while Keri is at Ms. Rizk’s slumber party in the Journalism room. And I bet Daffy Duck is entertaining them with ghost stories. Keep stretching this one along, Thorpiverse. We might believe you one day.

Well, at least I was right about their renting the Milford Moose Lodge another year. No way their house is that big. Unless their garage is an airplane hangar, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Gang, Gene Rayburn is back for Match Game 2018, ready to deflate that mistletoe that Conan’s moll (well, do ya want me to say Al Capone’s moll? Geez, Kaz might not have his stud on cue but he wouldn’t machine-gun Gil over bad coaching) is hoisting over his head. Take ‘er away, Gene.

“Dumb Dora was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought for a moment the Gil Thorp Christmas Composite came from the comic strip ____________.

 

“Oh, c’mon, I just want a kiss. C’mon, I got this mistletoe over your head for a reason. It’s not like we have to strip down and make wild love. We’re in front of a camera, silly.”

“Hey, Kaz, don’t let THAT stop you. Me and Mimi’ll go down to The Bucket for some Christmas Nog and leave you two alone.”

A Christmas Milford Men’s Clinic take to be told another time.

 

Big shout-out to Matthew Cloutier and the place he works for, The Cottage Inn, located in Middletown, Kentucky. A great little secret, it also has fulfilled MANY Holiday cake orders, much to my amazement, for such a small establishment. Looks like they’re competin’ with the big boys and turning a profit at he same time. Gang, if you’re in the area, stop in and check them out and see why many people find it a great place to eat out. Support Small Business, gang. You need a place where everyone knows your name. I salute you, Matt, and your wicked, sizzling sense of humor.

 

 

 

 

Day 11

Marty and Peaches are about to say goodbye for the next few days. They kiss and wish for more but a quick overview by the distaff side of the table, i.e., Marty’s limp Grand Central Station is all Peaches requires to convince her that Marty needs to get comfortably erect, courtesy of Milford Men’s Clinic or will be The Wall between them.

Marty is ready to return to the wild. He beeline to the Prehistoric Trail, the same one Eckels used in Ray Bradbury’s “A Sound of Thunder”. THIS time, Marty must stay on the path or his careless ambulatory methods could cause severe alterations to the future. Marty McFly could be Milford’s next quarterback.

He begins hiking and immediately spots a pre-historic preying mantis, licking his chops on whatever Marty has on his person. Fact is, Marty forgot to screw the lid back on his Nutella Banana Nut Spread. Too many interviews with A & E while butt naked will do that, Marty. Mr. Moon scurries away and hopes the creature won’t catch and peer down his knapsack for a sample. Hopefully, the turnip in the same compartment as the Nutella will keep the mantis away. Harry Caray kept the Tarantula back with his breath so it can happen.

 

Peaches takes off her Milford Outdoors Dacron Gore-Tex Bikini Underwear. She is off to visit Lotus Land. There, the Lorelei sings to trap unwary hikers to her domain. Peaches has to exercise caution because if she crashes into the rocks, she’ll be eternally trapped in Mimi’s 5-game schedule and she’ll be one of Mimi’s players. Wanna schedule UConn Women’s Basketball to up your game? Tough. Either find a way to get out of the game contract with, for example, New Thayer (bribe the athletic director, dump a heap of Ex-Lax in the pre-game meal during the Opening Prayer) or the same teams will be played as infinitum. What a punishment. It’s hard to imagine Peaches on this Wheel of birth and rebirth, take the shot, rebound, say good game to the refs at the end, line up the officials for the next. Karma on the basketball court isn’t pretty. Being punished with lay-up drills forever just adds to the suffering. But, hey, look at it this way. If all suffering is Maya, or illusion, the pre-game warm-ups oughta pass quickly. And Peaches can always think of that prom date she had in high school when she blows the easy 2 and gets castigated by Mimi on the sideline when she’s yelling “Use the backboard!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Will Peaches be forced to use her Avon Bitchin’ Berry Liquid Soap to pour in her ears to drown out the allure of The Lorelei’s calling? Will The Sirens’ cover version of Husker Du’s “Books About UFO’s” send Peaches over the edge and land her in the gator pit or on the bench besides Mimi, whichever comes first? Will Tee Hee tear out her heart with  with his Chromium hand, laughing while she is McChicken Nuggets for some ravenous croc? In a moment, we’ll see if she escapes Motel Hell.”

“Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Milford Beverage Warehouse. Man, Peaches is in a world of hurt. It’s a cryin’-ass shame Baron Samedi is not there to do his voodoo dance with his minions and the Milford High School Dance Corps to exorcise the demon that stole her heart, literally. And speaking of stealing, boy o boy, to quote ol’ Bud Man Harry Caray, the Warehouse has some steals for you and you don’t need signals from the 3rd base coach for these robberies. Jameson Irish Whiskey is on sale for $23.99, just what you need when you run out of Irish coffee. The teetotalers’ll never know what hit them. We have Menage a Trois Red Blend Wine, Milford Valley Select for the ridiculous price of $7.99. Yup, that’s right, grapes stomped on by some flunky and then fermented to perfection right here in your own backyard. And if you’ve read Kate L. Turabian’s Manual for Writers, and I confess I have skimmed through it while sitting my own private water closet, and if you are like me, you have no idea what pagination means. I guess you glue all the pages together, ensuring you have no Elmer’s Glue stains when you turn in your term paper. But don’t let that linch pin inhibit you from the imbibation of 19 Crimes Cabernet Sauvignon, the one Chef Boy-ar-Dee imbibated while he was cookin’ his spaghetti. He musta imbibated a bunch of these, you see so many of his cans BUT he got the liquoration for an incredible $7.99. Man, makes me hungry for his mini-ravioli. And remember, New Years Day is just around the corner. You don’t want to be imbibating Hi-C for such a festivity. Nope, keep plenty of Brut’s Champagne in storagation, either in your fridge or in your bird bath, hey, whatever yanks your crank. The point is, don’t be caught in flagellation by your guests due to a dearth of The Good Life on New Year’s Day. Leave the Kool-Aid to your kid’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Don’t take my word for it. Come in and see for yourself. There’s plenty of free parkination and if you purchase $50.00 or more of Life’s finest, Milford Beverage Warehouse will give you a free copy of William Zinsser’s  “On Writing Well”. Grammar and Bud never tasted so good, er, well.

Hop on in and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”

 

Harry and Gil at the Milford Mall signing autographs, Gil charging $10 an autograph, Harry gratis.

“Gil, have you no shame? Harry might have downed his 11th Bud and you might smell his breath even with all the car windows up but the kids love him. How can you charge kids who have no money?”

“Listen, I said ‘…extend a greeting to all my family and friends. It’s a way to keep the strip going. Wishing everybody ‘Happy Holidays’ with an ornate wreath wrapped around your head in P3 don’t come cheap. I had to talk down $20 just on the ornaments alone. Plus, the rest goes into the Practice Facility Fund. Tired of scrimmaging in Pulver’s driveway.”

 

Big shout-out to Andre Goatley of Louisville, Kentucky. Despite his having to use a Walker, he sports a 135 bowling average, quite an accomplishment, indeed. The man’s philosophy is practice, practice, practice. In fact, he was going from one bowling alley to another one across town to hone his craft. Adept also in track, he has proven you can do ANYTHING once you set your mind to it. You’re right, Andre. You are living that motto every day and then some. Well done, Big Guy.

 

 

Comment away, gang. I hope everybody has a wonderful Holiday and New Year. For me, personally, let Jesus rule your life as he does mine. He has done GREAT things in my life (trust me) ; Man o Man, if only you saw what I saw. Celebrate His Birthday by making this a very memorable day with your family and friends. Whatever your religion, be safe and enjoy the rest of the year.

I am thankful for you all. Without you, I am nothing. God bless you all. You all mean the world to me.

 

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