This Week in Milford

July 9, 2020

Pizza? $612.23. Oversized Sub? $95 With A Coupon. Truckload Of Uncle Bud’s Ice Cream At A Discount? $446.79. Fellowship And An Old-Fashioned Butt-Whipping? Priceless.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:06 am

 

 

Gil Thorp Comic Strip for July 09, 2020

 

 

 

Teenchy, One more time. Welcome back. You had me very concerned. Get well, My Friend.

 

And Monday is the time to express our generic gratitude for the past weekend. Where do we begin?

Gee, Milford, thanks for coming and kicking some behind at our expense. We tried to hold off the cavalry for so long with the Good Humor Man but it was clear the Dakota Territory was going to fall under U.S. administration. You could only hold off Sheridan and his troops with Digiorno for so long. Giving them cases of Dr. Pepper to wash it down just bought a little more time but we were whitewashed before the Subway truck could unload it’s 15-foot Italian Sausage Monster at Red Cloud’s position.

Still, nothing like Nick’s Pizza and a Klondike Bar at the Battle of Little Big Horn. Oh, there we won. General Custer fell for the Klondike Waffle Cone. The Indians scouted that ahead of time.

Be that as it may, this was another Thorpian Victory where nobody really won and nobody really cared. Kind of like the Barnum & Bailey Circus when the conventioneers come to Milford. Yeah, it’s OK to watch the clowns but we have business to do. We can’t be held up by the Bud truck.

Yeah, in the final analysis, tell your grandkids, Mayor, like Mr. Gauss told his hapless troops at Herbie’s Camp WE WON. I’m sure General Custer is telling his troops the same thing.

Because I was amazed that a card scanner was protruding outside the drive-thru window at a McDonald’s recently

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Nick’s Pizza Sued For Damages After Truck Runs Over Intercom System At The Bucket!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I was trying to clear their 9-foot bar when I heard a scrunch in the suspension system.”

 

And Monday morning also exists at Valley Modified where student-athlete wannabes are recapping the buzz saw that was the latest game between either team (or ONLY game for some. I don’t THINK Spanky or Alfalfa played on travel teams and Carhee played basketball. Anybody who had to have a girl from the stands order the ump to take a piss break behind the scorekeeper’s box and tell Carhee how to field with your glove in a scoop position and not facing the other way to deflect those basketball-career-ending vicious ground balls probably had this game his FIRST one with officials on it, Foot Locker or no Foot Locker uniform (I worked for Kinney’s, the owner, and FL was next door) . ) . This is NOT what we brag about at the company picnic.

I dropped 10 fly balls that cost us 23 runs, couldn’t hit the ball with a Nick’s Pizza pan, and didn’t know the baseball rules from the rules of Monopoly but WE WON. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a weekend than to get my ass thumped, eat lots of Domino’s and Edy’s Ice Cream, and get a date from that 345-pound woman with a Mudlark tattoo on her right elbow through Milford Dating Match Unlimited. The one tooth sealed the deal and got me erect faster than a Gonzo slider. And the egg on my head in P1 just summed up the festivities. We’re all winners here.

But why stop there? Next time, I’ll stop The Mayor in the hallway and talk all about my family reunion. That they gave me documented information that I was adopted, I finished last in the horseshoe tournament, finished next to last in the washers tournament after one of the participants collapsed of a heart attack (84-years-old and was reigning washer champion at these reunions) , and drank myself drunk with the Bud truck driver. Wishing you were here.

I can’t wait for the Watchnight Service come New Year’s Eve. I’ll have my pick of churches. Isn’t that an embarrassment of riches?

 

If ya done got skunked at the horseshoe tournament but ya was able ta git yore pickup truck a jump from the Horseshoe Champion at the Milferd Foundry picnic ta show no hard feelin’s, ya might be a redneck.

 

WHO THE HELL IS STANDING BEHIND THE MAYOR AND MR. EGG ON HIS HAIR???? Is this guy in line to relate HIS version of what went on at the student-athlete picnic-athletic event? And how long is this line? The Mayor has to go to class, folks. I’m sure these feel-good stories about being bombed at Pearl Harbor then staging a fish fry in the Pearl Harbor Town Hall give Mr. Mayor a ray of hope but I think I hear the bell ringing. Don’t be tardy talking about your getting thrown out by a mile because you ran through The Mayor’s red light over Chimichangas in Chipotle Ranch Dressing that the Taco Bell van delivered.

“Yeah, the wind was really carrying it. Woulda broken the shutout but the left-fielder had a Swiffer mop and hauled it-”

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG

“Shit!!!!!!!!!!! Gotta go!!!!!!!!!!! Class is on the other side of the school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

And then we head off into the sunset in P2. There’s still too many openings to indicate we are going to conclude this Another World Ad Aeturnum but the concept otherwise is workable as long as The Lone Ranger and Tonto change the angle of their walking path heading towards the horizon or they’re going to collide with She Needs Head & Shoulders To Remove The Dandruff And The Omelette On Her Strands.

But things could be worse. She at least has her butt in order, not the perpendicular lines to their beltlines that our anti-heroes are displaying.  How do they go to the bathroom? How do they wipe an angle bisector? They’re going to have a time of it should they be forced to resort to an outhouse.

 

SWING AND A MISS

The Nick’s Delivery Driver has compassion and can stand no more

“Here, try this Supreme Thin-Crust Pizza pan. One of our employees hit a grand slam and his team won the Milford City Softball Tournament.”

 

And even if this story is another Freddy Kruger (and just as ugly but we can at least fend off Freddy with a pitchfork) , the “Exit” sign should be a sign that SOME of this doggy-doo will wind up in the incinerator. Now understand that I am getting ambiguous signs here, wondering what class they are going to if on the other end of the sign is The Great Outdoors. French in the Great Wide Open? Language Lab in the parking lot? Intro to Sociology? What group behavior is being studied? The lawn crew when they’re at lunch? Those research methods ought to come in handy.

We just know that while The Mayor is offering a Lifesaver to Egghead over his dismal-but-Daagen-Hazs-enhanced performance that we should have no more Riverdale Modified vs. Archie and the Gang.

“Reggie, what are you doing at RM?”

“Archie, I got caught with Miss Grundy at Pop’s Choklit Shoppe because I was desperate. Veronica was out of town. I might have gotten away with it but Moose ratted on me after he found out that I raped his girlfriend Midge at the picnic behind the mutant poplars.”

 

And the latest entry in the Pantheon of Mysterious Objects hangs above the conversation down below. Thorpiverse would try to run it by you as part of a light apparatus. Boy, does he have YOU fooled.

This is a gigantic Raid Fly Sticky Paper device and does it do the job. It might be overkill since it’s assured that 1,563,874 flies, hornets, wasps, flying fire ants, or even Dumbo the Elephant or The Green Hornet will not all be in the space given in P2 at any given time but one can never be too careful. The welfare of the students at Valley Modified is of utmost concern. You can’t have mosquitoes sailing up your perpndicular butt without your knowledge. You might get malaria. Better safe than sorry.

Yes, it could be a night lamp designed to shock those poor suckers to death. I’m sticking with Sticky Fly Paper. Nobody traipses the hallways at 11:08PM to go to Intro to Sociology.

 

Jive Turkey, gotcha covered

Take ‘er away, Gene Rayburn

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought The Mayor’s lawyer could get him reinstated if the lawyer offered to Gil and Dr. Pearl___________________ in an out-of-court settlement at the picnic.”

 

I’m late, I’m late

For a very important date

No time to say Hello Goodbye

I’m late, I’m late, I’m late

 

Now that I have Disney’s Alice in Wonderland on my Close ‘n’ Play when I was 6 years old out of my system, we switch to the William Tell Overture (NOT ORIGINALLY The Lone Ranger Theme, for all you lazy bums everywhere) and wonder where in the name of Nick’s Pizza The Mayor is going to take that large manila envelope on his 10-speed. I’ll throw out he is working part time for Milford Courier Service, Inc. and delivering State Auditing Reports Re: Milford High School-2008 to Dr. Pearl at her house.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Mr. Dr. Pearl comes to the door, butt-naked, with a severe case of jock itch

“Ummmmmm, is Dr. Pearl here?”

“She’s in the shower.”

“Woyld you give these to her?”

“Absolutely. I’ll lay them on the coffee table.”

 

This just has to (unfortunately) be germane to a few loose ends. I don’t believe our readership can truly honestly envision The Mayor hitching on the back of a garbage truck for Milford Sanitation Engineers to pay his rent for the rest of his life because he was caught buttering his Chiffon on his Pillsbury Croissants with a switchblade. He can go to Harvard because he could point to that class clown that tortured Chris Schuring and everything will be peachy.

 

At Milford Comedy Club one night

“…and the hare said to the tortoise ‘Ya wanna race to Dr. Pearl’s garage door? And the tortoise replied ‘You must take me for Mr. Dr. Pearl’s butt.'”

Later that night at the Thorp household in the bedroom

“Well, Mimi, punchlines expressed in the form of a statement didn’t work. I better go back to the Socratic Method.”

 

Gang, do you think I should be nice about the yard in P3? Didn’t think so. I’m amazed that Mrs. Knappe (I’m sure they’re not living together without consulting the Milford Justice of the Peace) can work on the lawn in her Jerry Lawler knee pads, let alone work on what WE THINK is more lawn. If it is, and the mail route is motorized (mounted route in post office lingo) , how would the vehicle put the mail in the box and not run over the grass? Mrs. Lawler is just full of ideas. Organic Mail Delivery. You can get your mail and weed out the trouble spots in your petunia patch. And the driveway is at a nice angle, I’ll admit. I simply hope the lawn isn’t extended to where the driveway crosses. She’ll have SUV’s and Postal Jeeps running in all directions. And you really don’t want Jeep tire tracks in the rose bed.

But she has more on her mind than wayward LLV’s that run over pizzas and petunias as attested by The Mayor heading out of Dodge to send his SAT scores to Yale. Stay tuned.

 

A moment of sadness as I would like to remember Charlie Daniels, who just passed away. He was a no-nonsense, no-holds-barred singer and performer, agile in the genres of Country and Rock & Roll. He won a Grammy for “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” but also produced solid hits such as “In America”, The Legend of Wooley Swamp”, and “Still in Saigon”. I went to a concert of his and the first thing he says before he starts the concert is “I would like to dedicate tonight to my Lord Jesus Christ.” It is easy to say that when you’re on top of the mountain but he was well past his glory days but still loving to perform and remembering who made it all possible. I salute you, Charlie.

 

“We’ll return to see if The Lone Ranger and Tonto negotiate past an army of Cougars in Utah and get The Mayor’s transcript to Dartmouth before the deadline after these messages. This is WDIG-TV.”

“My goodness, I hope they have enough ammunition to shoot off those cats in the wild country. Me, I would have taken the train or FedEx’d it but we’ll all get to Heaven, even if we take a different route than the others. You don’t always need a Gideon Bible when we’re staying overnight at Milford Marriott.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp and the pandemic is slowly but surely backing away and the Milford Beverage Warehouse is opening Sesame. And you don’t even need to spell Sesame.

Come in and get a load of a 12-Pack of Bud Light. You don’t need to wear a mask to sample one of the premium beers in the business nor get Spuds Mackenzie’s paw print for the finest booze. We had a couple of autograph hounds come in and were sorely disappointed even when we told them they could use The Warehouse Discount Card on the Budster. I guess $12.99 was not enough to stop all the bitching.

And you people who have bathtubs that need to be replaced are in luck. You’ll recall that The Warehouse partnered with Milford Plumbing Solutions to replace that old toilet that had seen better days flushing. And all you had to do was buy The Warehouse’s finest and a potty that didn’t overflow or show permanent rust stains around the handle was yours for the pooping.

But The Warehouse has done one better. With cooperation from the same company, now until the end of August, with a purchase of Jim Beam in the 1.75 Liter bottle, MPS will install a Kohler Bath Tub for the ridiculously low $50/month and a down payment that they would charge their own family. Hey, they take baths too. They don’t want to be smelly either because they couldn’t get it financed according to Hoyle. Imagine, you’ll be able to relax in your new tub and curl up and read Great Expectations sipping whiskey from the tub tray. Their family is more inclined to Reader’s Digest but the whiskey still tastes the same.

And just to remind you, our Warehouse associates are required to wear protective masks, gloves, and booties while selling you The Good Life. The Good Life shouldn’t be contaminated with bugs, whether it’s Michelob Ultra or Jose Cuervo. If I saw an amoeba on my Jack Daniels Fire Water, I’d freak. That’s why any associate with a cold or the flu is required to stay home. We fired the last associate who regurgitated all over the Kendall Jackson Chardonnay. He shouldn’t have eaten that tuna sandwich running a 101 fever.

Safety with a vengeance, cheap booze, and quality bathtubs, you’ll find it all at Milford Beverage Warehouse. Come let your problems go down the drain but not your money or yoyr booze and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.

 

Gang, sorry I disagree. I think The Lone Ranger will get across the Missouri at St. Joseph before the ferry shuts down for the night. Otherwise, God bless you all.

 

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Thousands Of Dollars In Damage As Milford PO Jeep Slams Into The Porch Of The Thorp Household!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Station Manager: I had to explain to the trainee that he was not doing a mounted route.”

 

 

Scratching his crotch for the 386th time today

“Honeybun, were you the one that mail-ordered this Cruex?”

“Maybe.”

 

 

 

 

 

July 7, 2020

Maybe We’ve Consumed Too Much Pizza Lately.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 1:58 pm

 

Maybe this plot’s overstepped its bounds lately

Too much pepperoni, little game

Maybe we need someone wearing a size 12

To kick this poop into the flames

Lately competition’s crappier than the weather

Who cares if game was won, or even logged

Lately we’ve been wondering if there’s a summer

We wouldn’t know, we’re in a fog

 

Yesterday has ran into tomorrow

Wrecking every team we’ve ever known

Even though VM lies together with Milford in this bed

I believe they’re lying there alone

 

When I saw all the maybe’s, it was the perfect opportunity to get one out of the David Allan Coe vaults. My dad is a HUGE fan of his music and I was going to nail the coffin on all these maybe’s with some Coe doing the funeral music.

And just when we’re well into July, the Plot That Won’t Stay Dead still has a few leftovers (we’re assuming this is the dregs of the coffee that we’re drinking in the faculty lounge and we have no intentions of brewing recycled Folger’s) . And lo and behold, we weren’t at the scene of the crime (Malicious Abuse of High School Athletics In Toto With Intent to Injure Our Sanity) , but we sure as heck can compare notes on the crime. Did you send the pizza? Oh, a little birdie called Nick’s Pizza. Did you send the subs? I called Dumbo the Elephant to relay a messsge to Subway. Did you send the carton of Marlboro’s? We had a smoking section and the rec league ump is a 2-pack-a-day honcho. Yes, I told the Lone Ranger who told Tonto and he packed them all in his saddle bag, including the Winston’s. He had to borrow Silver to hoist the Milford Tobacco Cigarillos.

I mean, this is getting plain foolish. We don’t have better things to talk about than bailing out a non-sanctioned event and sincerely believe we can wash our hands of this tomfoolery in the bargain? Really, Hawaii 5-0 built a script around these kinds of events.

“McGarrett, I caught Honore Vashon smuggling Laffee Taffee for profit at an under-the-table occurence. The mob figure to get 50% of the cut of the action with that and Chuckles. We caught him when he tried to negotiate with Milford Confectionary for top dollar. We found a whole crate of Mike & Ike in his trunk.”

“Ohhhhhhh, I did nothing wrong. Me and my son were only trying to help a bunch of losers who couldn’t shoot a fat-ass mafioso if he had a bullseye on his butt. And don’t mention what they couldn’t do with a baseball bat. I was only trying to import from the sweatshops of the South Pacific the finest Rolo’s to people who couldn’t field a question.”

“Tell that to the State Attorney General, Vashon. Book ’em, Dan-O.”

 

Speaking of Hawaii, I admired their football team’s respectable record (565-463-25) but honestly believe it’s been padded a little, for example, Kaneohe Marines, 1-0, Mickalums (don’t really know if that’s Hawaiian, just go along) , 2-0, Kauai Broncos, (Soon to go Division I any day now) , 1-0, Oahu Blues, 1-0, Honolulu McKinley High School (no Arizona State or New Mexico or Texas Tech (examples) were available? They just bailed on you and forced you to take drastic action? The HS was between that and UCLA?) , 11-0, Hawaii National Guard, 5-1 (The one loss occurred when the game-tying extra point was nullified because the kicker slipped on the rainy National Guard Outdoor Facility turf) , and Mid-Pacific Institute, 2-0 (Where’s West Pacific Institute? Is there an extension on Samoa?) . Granting an impressive resume against Cal State-Fullerton, 10-1, I STILL say

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“NCAA Nixes Contracts Between Milford Community College and Milford High School and Valley Alternative!!!!!!!!!!!!! MCC Will Have To Engineer 2 Games On Short Notice!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“NCAA Spokesperson: This was not performed in the spirit of fair play. Milford Pizza Hut Deliveries was not going to change that perception.”

 

“So, Dr. Pearl, were you the one to send The Good Humor Man to the game?”

“Maybe.”

 

Steve Goodman was a well-respected musician and songwriter who wrote “The City of New Orleans” (…Good morning, America, how are ya…) , sung as a Top 40 hit back in the ’70’s by Arlo Guthrie. Goodman eventually wrote with John Prine “The Perfect Country and Western Song” or “You Never Even Called Me By My Name” and sent it to David Allan Coe for a critique. Coe facetiously sent it back and said the song (as noted IN the song) that it really wasn’t Country because it didn’t talk about trains, Mama, prison, pickup trucks, or getting drunk. Goodman facetiously returned the favor by taking him up on it and adding those elements to the song and it ironically became a smash hit. Prine wanted it uncredited to him because he wanted no part of challenging Nashville, which by the ’70’s had become a very powerful influence in music, especially Country music. He did not want to take on a tidal wave. The movie “Nashville”, a Robert Altman cult classic confirmed that.

David Allan Coe wasn’t afraid to take on the Nashville establishment, pointing out that Nashville had simply become another pawn in Corporate America. And it had some merit. The moving of the Grand Ole Opry with then-Opryland next door showed how commercialized Country Music had become. Ryman Auditorium got left in the wake (the original venue for Grand Ole Opry) , ruffling some feathers. On the other hand, nobody confused Minnie Pearl with a Yuppie. Many Country stars such as Johnny Cash and Porter Wagoner had their feet on the ground. Country was still Country.

That said, I have my own perfect Country song that pretty well sums up what’s been going on so far. Check it out

The plot was stalled and drunk

The day my mom started at Nick’s Pizza

And she drove all those pizzas by Milford Prison in the rain

But before she could make it to the ballfield in her delivery truck

The pizzas got run over by a damned ol’ train

 

OK, it wasn’t a pickup truck. We can bend the rules and still be a perfect Country song. We bent A LOT of rules in this game, Gil, Kaz, and Andy included.

 

“So Mr. Bader, was it you that sent Ronald McDonald to distribute all the Happy Meals?”

“How could I? I’m up for parole next week.”

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, your latest in Pantheon of Mysterious Objects is that unusual chart on the wall and I wonder IS THAT A STOCK MARKET SHEET????

“…Milford Foundry, down a quarter, Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage, up 3/8, The Bucket, down 3/4, Milford Toyota, up a quarter, Trading Futures, polled herefords trading in at a 1/2, the Molford Stockyards reporting a discrepancy, particularly among hogs…”

And then the price of coffee, normally cents on the dollar at most high school faculty lounges across the country are evidently at a premium at Milford High judging by the oversized dollar sign.  I don’t know who can afford Folger’s Premium Select Exclusively For Teachers With A Nest Egg The Size Of Doctor Pearl’s Bun but maybe that’s a best-kept secret. I THINK that’s?Gil behind that Phantom of the Opera mask. Really unclear about that one too.

“…You don’t have to call me Barry Bader

And you don’t have to call me Dr. Pearl

And you don’t have to call me Coach Heather

Anymore

Even though you were once a soccer girl…”

 

If yore neighbors pitch in fer the whiskey to take ta yore ex-wife and ya want ta start over cuz ya git a charge out of makin’ love ta women who are 600 pounds with boobs ya can recline in and one tooth ya can hang yore hunting cap on, ya might be a redneck.

 

And this could be another coffee commercial in P2

“We have secretly pissed in Gil’s Folger’s Classic Roast to see if he notices the difference. Can the leading coffee in the industry and the Official Coffee down at Milford Foundry stand up to the strain? Andy awaits with bated breath while pretending to read Milford Harness Racing results

“So there was a rumor floating around that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir shipped the Twinkies and Ho Ho’s while they were on break from their concert at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater. Did you hear anything, Gil?”

Slurpppppppppp

“Maybe.”

“We won’t tell Dr. Phibes a/k/a Gil the truth. But this is proof positive of what happens when we select the finest coffee beans from the hills of Colombia to the ranches in Honduras and the part-time hog farmer near New Thayer. And the good news is, you don’t have to take a urine test to experience fine coffee. Try a cup of Folger’s Classic Roast today. Available in your Milford area grocers.”

And after a taste test and finding out your horse finished last, nothing better to catch up on the latest lowdown with Gil and Kaz while soaking in Milford Adult Monthly. Sure, Andy, Luhm picked it up off the rack at Milford Adult Shoppe when they ran out of Archie comics. We won’t tell.

“Wowwwwwwwwww, get a load of Mimi in this pin-up-oops, I hope Gil didn’t hear me.”

 

“…Well, I’ve heard my name a few times in Milford’s phone book (hello, hello)

And I’ve seen it at The Bucket, where I’ve played

But the only time I know, I’ll hear David Allan Coe

Is when Gil Thorp calls me as a partner on Golfing Day…”

 

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Upset After Re-Classification By Milford Parks & Recreation Adult Flag Football League.”

sub headline

“I just don’t understand why we’re being bumped down. We beat Milford Fire Department and I know they have a couple of ex-NFLers.”

 

I am really trying to make sense of this. So Milford Beverage gets this anonymous phone call to send 1,768,234 bottles of water and 342 cases of Coke, Mr. Pibb, Frosty Root Beer, and Yoo Hoo! and gives the receptionist his credit card number and expiration date. He then proceeds to have arranged 16 Uber drivers to transport it all after calling Milford Uber and leaving the location of the ball field after e-mailing an electronic check through Milford Ordnance Plant Federal Credit Union. And all he has to do is hide behind Penthouse and just say ‘maybe.’ Like the entourage of Uber drivers at the ball field was pulled off by Santa Claus at the North Pole.

In the faculty lounge

“Did you have Rudolph and Donner and Blitzen and Santa’s other reindeer that I forgot from Milford Pre-School deliver those cases of Coors?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, they had to dump a couple in the creek. A bit too lukewarm.”

 

“…It was all that I could to keep from crying

Sometimes it was so useless to keep playing

You don’t have to call it ‘Baseball’, Darlin’

They never even finished this stupid game…”

 

“And thus ends this non-baseball game. No score was kept. Hey, we’re all winners, right? Gil’s had plenty of those games in his resume. We just shake on it and let bygones be bygones and as long as we in truth stomped your butt, we’ll keep letting those bygones be gone. We’ll be back for final stats that you can tell your grandkids after this. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

 

“OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That pepporoni slice didn’t agree with me!!!!!!!!!!! Where’s a trash can!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“My client, Elmer Erlenmeyer, was having a good time at the ball park but too much non-action and a healthy amount of Nick’s Pizza forced him into an unexpected trip from the EMT to Milford General.”

“When I found out that the insurance companies underwrote the whole pizza party and ball game, I was appalled. I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was non-sanctioned. I like fun at the old park and some Red Baron but I have my principles. They even had the nerve to have the Good Humor Man latch a ride with the Bud truck. This was a bacchanalian affair with Murderer’s Row in the spotlight. I wanted compensation for my gastronomic system and I wanted it fast.”

“I got Mr. Erlenmeyer $546,657,932 for this fiasco that wouldn’t have been a fiasco if the golf plot had kicked in. We called the EPA and they made sure that Superfund took care of all the vomit stains around the ball park and that pizza boxes and Bud bottles were properly disposed. I underatand the burial site is a proposed Izaak Walton League tract.”

“Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My stomach doesn’t need extra Pepto-Bismol, the High School Athletic Association has said ‘Just Say No’ to games played by Spot and Jane, and my check will finance a new microwave. I can cram all the DiGiorno’s I want. And wash it down with a Fresca. Thanks, Shark.”

“You heard the man. Come get your own slice of the pizza pie and have piece of mind knowing this one you won’t upchuck behind the backstop. Call 1-FON-THE-JAWS. One call, that’s all.”

 

Maybe one day this whole shebang will make sense. Maybe.

But there’s no maybe to your support, Gang. God bless you.

 

At Karaoke Hour at Milford Lounge, Coach Shaw on a roll with his Jazz guitar

“…Gil was drunk the day Mimi got out of prison

And we went to pick her up in the rain

But before me and Gil got to the station in my pickup truck

Gil’s mama done got run over by a damned ol’ train…”

Heard by a drunk in the back

“Hmmmm, less shheee, Mama, trains, pickup trucks, yup, looksh like (hiccup) he got ’em all. Oh, and Gil gettin’ drunk. Couldn’t leavsh that out.”

 

“Dr. Pearl, did you fill out that subscription order for Milford Bettor’s Handicap Daily in the teacher’s lounge?”

“Maybe.”

July 2, 2020

Tighten Those Abs When You Close The Tailgate In The Latest Jane Fonda Workout Video.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 4:04 am

 

That’s right, you should be feeling a burn when you close those pecs tighter than a screwdriver on a loose nut when you are making a routine grounder to first. Get down and dirty when the ball takes a bad hop and get the adrenaline in those glutes. Feel your radial and ulna strain for redemption when you’re diving for a vicious line drive.

As long as we’re going to tell Rent-an-Ump that he really has no authority and was just called by Gil to do glorified babysitting, we might as well get a decent exercise regimen going. There’s really nothing better to do than boss people around because the ump really isn’t doing it, a shark with no teeth, (hey, that sounds like Gil) and eating pizza while catching up with Elviney and Loweezy on the latest gossip. As long as the backstop really isn’t designated for baseball purposes, we might as well use it for SOMETHING, since our tax dollars are financing this structure without a sport. Gossiping through the fence is just as good as anything at this point.

Hitorque raised a good point. This is too much like parents getting overinvolved with their kids, especially at the Instructional level. And as Coach Stuard taught me, it is too late to instruct once the game starts. That’s where you instruct in PRACTICE.

But as long as Phoebe Keener bombed out as a virtual graduate assistant for Mimi in basketball (but she could read those meaningless stats as if she were Vin Scully) or girlfriend (well, not all her fault, The Mayor sealed his own fate buttering Pop-Tarts) or softball player (hey, franchise players rally the troops when Jamila gets injured stubbing her toe on the pitching rubber) or a friend in need (her actions towards The Mayor after his exile were noble but now he’s hawking pizza in the stands when he’s not the glue for this Valley Mudified team that is coming apart at the seams.

So she has found her calling as a bleacher bum who instills words of wisdom to players who wouldn’t be caught dead playing this sport, let alone this game(?) , hoping they’ll learn to turn the 6-4-3 double play by osmosis. Kinda like Norman Vincent Peale trying to instruct Kareem Abdul-Jabbar on how to get the heck out of the way when Kareem’s the shortstop and an outfielder is calling him off on a tweener fly ball. Man coming in has the right-of-way, Kareem. Okay, time to sit down in my lawn chair, light my pipe and enjoy fun at the old ball park. Until Kareem overthrows the 1st baseman and the runner is given a 2-base award. Then the fun stops and you tell Kareem to throw to the chest.

 

Face it, we’re not out of the woods on this COVID-19 pandemic. Good news is that things are gradually returning to normal. Still can’t help but notice a sign that said at a truck stop

“Do not enter if you are infested with COVID-19.”

Like what are they going to do, drug test all the truckers before they can buy munchies and log books?

Don’t buy Milford Truck Stop Colombian Delite coffee before you turn in your pee cup. And flush the contaminated Snickers down the toilet after you’ve sat on the john after over-peeing.

Anyway, seen on a sign at The Bucket

“Do not enter and contaminate our guests if you have the runs.”

I know I wouldn’t want my Bucket Burger going through The Andromeda Strain because some senior citizens who live at Milford Senior Living Suites forgot to bring Geritol

 

“Gil, I thought we were going through the drive-thru.”

“Uhhhhhh, I want to talk to the manager and see if he will bend the rules on these Milford Children’s Meal tokens. They’re just a day late.”

Gil goes inside and ignores the sign and heads to the bathroom.

“Out of order?????? Because they have to refill the toilet paper dispenser?????? Sheesh!!!!!!”

 

Jane Fonda Workouts continue.

“I know of no other way to work those thighs then to have somebody shadowing your ass in the infield. You know we wouldn’t want Phoebe missing out on all the fun. There you go, stretch ’em ’til they hurt so that she can see the ball hit off the bat. It’s an injustice when  Carhee’s big butt is blocking any anticipation. Down to squat position, Mr. Carhee. You can squat and still hide your jock strap in the back.”

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Jane Fonda’s Milford ‘Til It Hurts Video Shoot In The Girl’s Basketball Gym To Be Postponed So That Luhm Can Sandblast All The Old Chewing Gum Off The Floor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Mimi Thorp: ‘Damn. And we had already ordered 300 placemats.”

 

And my favorite women’s college basketball coach said something once that knocked me to the floor. He was trying to get his team to play at a level that wins championships and you start with effort. Basically, his point was, if you’re gunning for something, we can’t just hand everybody a participation trophy and forget it.

Now don’t get me wrong, I respect Vince Lombardi but I despise what he says about playing in a rung below, say, the Super Bowl, is for losers and it’s the losers bowl. To me, if a kid gave me EVERYTHING, I shook his or her hand after the contest. There’s no sense in putting on somebody’s shoulders undue pressure if they are giving their best. And you’d be surprised how many championships get won that way.

That said, there is nothing wrong with striving for #1. One of my favorite Bible verses says “8 of us compete for a prize but only one will get that prize. Compete as if you were going to win that prize” In other words, if you’re up against Dominique Wilkins and Michael Jordan in a Slam Dunk contest, you still have to put your best foot forward.

 

But this is absurd. In this Circus Disguised As An Exhibition, everybody’s getting free trophies and pizzas and uniforms and catcher’s mitts. Nobody ever donated a catcher’s mitt when I was playing catcher in Slo-Pitch Softball. When’s the last time Marty Moon donated a catcher’s mitt to Gil because the Milford T-Ball League was victimized by embezzlemrnt by the League Recording Secretary? Would you pass the pepperoni? Sure, could you hand me that Lead Participant-Milford Bowling League Honor. It’s underneath the anchovies. And the Mike Piazza Dodger Blue Mitt is next to the Klondike bars in the freezer.

And one of my favorite authors, Herman Wouk, wrote “The City Boy” about a New York urbanite kid who hates going to camp, especially with these jocks he’s on bad terms with when school is in session. The camp is run by Mr. Gauss who is also Herbie’s principal during school.

And one day, their camp gets waxed by a rival camp, Camp Penobscot, Herbie’s jocks only able to do so much. Well, that night, Mr. Gauss tells the kids WE WON. No matter what the scoreboard said, and it was bad, WE WERE THE WINNERS.

This was called a Gaussian victory in the book. And this simpleton exchange of ideas between Milford and Valley Modified is one great big Thorpian Victory. No, really, Milford didn’t beat Valley Modified, team. We just didn’t score enough runs.

Well said, Mayor. Here’s some parmesan cheese to sprinkle on your Best Attitude in an Ass-Whupping Award. If that’s not Thorpian Victory, I’m Nick’s assistant driver.

 

If ya Turtle Wax yore Participation Trophy from the 3rd Grade Spelling Bee after ya went down in the second round cuz ya mispelled “glue” and didn’t know that they added an “e” after ya took Modern English at Milferd High School, ya might be a redneck.

 

“Next we’re going to aerobicize to UB40’s version of ‘Take Me Out To The Ballgame’. This is a lot of fun especially when you work out in blue jeans modeled after adjustable crescent wrenches. But the payoff is the lumbar liberation, especially when you don’t have to worry about any rips in the crotch when playing the short-hop.

And don’t you feel the love when your coccyx is comfortable to sit in a La-Z-Boy or you’re Gonzo Aceves crouching in an unnatural position because you’re usually on the mound pitching? I realize that may be Ardis Carhee because he’s sporting Valley Modified sportswear but this Musical Chairs Intended To Comfort The Hamstrings and Spinal Column is a real hit with my aerobicizers, especially with the older ladies at Milford Women’s Christian Temperance Union and as long as Ardis and Gonzo trade uniforms on the level and keep it private in the locker room, this workout can be a rewarding experience. A lot of wrenched backs occur when Grandma Moses and Granny Clampett try to execute Long Skirt Exchange in front of the Nick’s Pizza crowd. Not the kind of image Milford WCTU wants to portray. Gonzo and Ardis should not be negotiating bartering Fruit of the Looms in the eye of the public if they want true back masssges included in this workout.”

 

“Coach Thorp, is it true that you became a jarhead because you flunked the Algebra section of the ASVAB, getting your vectors confused as part of the Air Force Entrance Requirements?”

“You kids want to work on blocking out? Remember, your butt is a secret weapon on the rebound.”

 

Let’s just pile this on, why don’t we? In fact, why don’t we spot Valley Modified 20 runs since they were generous enough to dole out pizza to anyone who cared? I remember when I officiated with this official in feeder league basketball and this one team is smoking the other and it is a 50-point deficit (kid you not) at halftime.

Well, he comes up with this brilliant idea (notice sarcasm) to call all fouls on the team that’s winning and none on the team that’s losing, unless there’s blood. And any of you who have had kids in sports know that tough as it is not to say anything to an official, if an official HUSTLES, and studies his rule book and tries to be consistent, that is all we can reasonably ask. A good official will establish at the beginning of the game what a foul is, what traveling is, etc. Get control EARLY. Do NOT try to establish what a foul is in the 4th quarter. You’re going to have a time of it when it’s a free-for-all. So if you’ve established your fouls and violations and it’s smooth sailing THEN change the tune just because the game’s a blow-out, YOU WILL HEAR IT. FROM BOTH SIDES. And he said, well, they have to learn how to handle adversity in an enemy gym. THAT’S THEIR PROBLEM. Our job is to call what we see CONSISTENTLY for 4 quarters and establish our own careers. Sheesh.

So remember, when Milford is piling up the runs and it’s 46-21 (1 + the 20 you spotted them) , call all strikes on Milford even if they’re 3 feetcout of the strike zone and balls for Valley Modified, even if they’re at the heart of the dish. Hey, Milford might have to play The 75-and Over Champion at their place. They better learn how to weather the storm now. Tough crowd at Milford Senior Living.

And it’s not enough to let the pizza and cokes flow at this event, though it’s about the worst hare-brained at something called COMPETITION, not enough to hand out trophies out of Trix boxes, no, unless there’s blood, let Valley Modified rally so that they think they’re the Yankees. Hey, the dude with pony tail and shorts could be Lou Gehrig. Oh, he’s lucky all right. Iron Horse touring with The Mamas and The Papas. We can watch that after Milford snuffs this mock rally.

 

“And we’ll be back after these messages. By that time, Phoebe will be cuffed and charged with trespassing at a later date. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a?division of Learfield Sports.”

 

“Wasn’t it nice for Jane Fonda to practice good health habits at this friendly competition? C’mon, people, it’s not all beer and pretzels. And Milford Beverage Warehouse is out to back that up.

“If you come in and purchase a 30-pack of Busch Light, The Warehouse will give you absolutely free Jane Fonda and Mimi Thorp Aerobicize Your Butt Fat To Hooked On Classics. Now that’s what I call fun. Dancing to a disco version of ‘Beethovens Fifth’ and soaking down your fifth can, by God, my butt will be something to skateboard off of. I can just see Jane relaxing with a Busch after she stretched her gluteus maximus to ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies’.

And for what you would spend at the barber to remove the unwanted hair from your chest, you can get a Maker’s Mark Whiskey in 740 ml AND Jane Fonda’s How To Sweat Off The Jack You Really Shouldn’t Have Consumed. It’s nice to know that if I overindulged, I can always pop in the video and get happy feet to “Sing, Sing, Sing”. I understand Benny Goodman danced with his clarinet after he got carried away with the bottle.

And you Bud Men out there aren’t going to walk away empty-handed, not on your life. For $13.49, you can get 12 oz in the 12 can variety and still indulge in Jane Fonda’s Ways To Country-Line Dance Your Bud Breath Away. I know I’ll be on the dance floor this Friday at The Warehouse. Flexing your mandibulars and fellowshipping  with your fellow Bud compatriots, Jane sure knows how to aerobicize and enjoy The Good Life

Come on down and get your own video and start dancing to these sweet deals and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”

Gang, you can’t have my Participation Trophy on the TWIM Site. Otherwise, you’re #1 with me. God bless you.

 

 

At Milford Lion’s Club meeting one night

“And the Participation Trophy in the Comic Strip Category of the Associated Press goes to Gil Thorp.”

You heard the applause

“Thank you. Golly, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never won at being mediocre before so you’ll have to let me catch my breath. Usually, I’m on the golf course so this coaching experience is totally new

The band hired for the event rips into “Layla”, ending the words of wisdom as every honoree is on a time limit, mediocre coaches included…

 

 

At the Milford Girls Gym with Eric Clapton’s “Tangled in Love” booming from a tape player

 

“Now don’t die on me, Dr. Pearl. You can work those core muscles in your biceps!!!!!!! Chop!!!!!! Chop!!!!!!!!!”

Dr..Pearl collapses and slips into a coma after attempting to extend her triceps and biceps while running in place in 3/4 time during Clapton’s silky guitar solo

Mimi is not discouraged

“Suck it in, girl!!!!!!!!! No guts, no glory!!!!!!!!!!!!”

June 30, 2020

The Only One Who Has Delivered So Far Has Been The Domino’s Driver.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 8:38 am

 

Harry, soused with a couple of pepperonis and 10 Buds, begins the ritual at the 7th-inning stretch

ALL RIGHT YOU MUDLARKS LET ME HEAR YA GOOD AND LOUD

 

TAKE ME OUT TO THE PICNIC

TAKE ME OUT TO THE FOOD

BUY ME SOME THREE MEAT AND CRACKER JACK

I DON’T CARE IF WE EVER LOSE TRACK

SO IT’S ON AND ON FOR THIS CRAPPER

IF WE DON’T END, WHO’S TO BLAME

FOR IT’S ONE!!!!!!

TWO!!!!!!!

PLOT HAS STRUCK OUT AT THIS CRYING SHAME

 

LET’S GET SOME PIZZA!!!!!!!!!!!

 

When Spicoli got his pizza delivered at his charity event yesterday, I knew the plot was going to be stuck in neutral until, oh, the football season. Doesn’t look like Gil’s going to give one of his life’s lessons to some zit-infested teenager when addressing the ball at the Milford Country Club Golf Course. There still might be time at the end of the summer at the miniature golf course. Gil won’t have to reserve a tee time at Milford Links. He can teach a group of freshmen how to overcone adversity when negotiating your stroke through an opening in a windmill house that is steadily rotating its windmill blades. Just time your career path so that it won’t hit the rotor blade. You wouldn’t want your status as a lawyer or an engineer blocked because you didn’t line up the shot AND was caught off guard when the windmill swooped down. And at the hole, drive for show, putt for dough. You’ll pass more bar exams that way. Boom, you’ve two-putted and become just like Hadley Venom.

And let’s face it, as long as ‘Watha is chowing down on a chunka pizza in P1, I think it is safe to say that baseball is on hold for a while. Oh, good strategy, Mayor. When you’re getting your ass handed to you, well, you know the number of Milford Domino’s. While the Mudlarks are piling on the runs, you can stop the action and announce a temporary truce. And while the Mudlarks are innocently gobbling up the sausage and pan hand-tossed cheese-crusted pepperoni and side order of breadsticks combo, you can huddle your troops behind one of those mutant poplars and exhort “We got ’em where we want ’em. They score any more runs, they’ll be barfing up more pepperoni at home plate than Mimi’s team has ball games.” Sure, Mayor. If Johnny Bench in the forefront had consumed pizza box after pizza box, it might have turned the tide in the ’75 Series. No way was he throwing out Jim Rice or Fred Lynn trying to steal when he’s constipated. Trying to hit a home run while waiting for Luis Tiant to deliver a pitch from that forever-pace windmill windup while you’re pooping pepperoni? Easy dribbler to the first baseman. And don’t even talk about Carlton Fisk using body english when he was motioning his homer to go fair on a full stomach of strombolis and Canadian bacon. Yeah, sometimes pizza and baseball strategy can not only backfire but make strange bedfellows. Your own team proves that.

 

Oooooookkkkk, Gang, you’ve been good to me for over two years. This is the least I can do but I’m confident many of you will enjoy it. From another one of my favorite albums, Jimmy Buffett’s (yeah, I can see some of you putting on your grass skirts already) “License to Chill” (and #1, sweet, sweet)

 

Little roadside pickup game we artfully complain

‘Watha tells the zebra ump that this sideshow dies in vain

None of this falderol went according to design

Mayor lives his dream but to VM he’s still resigned

 

From the bottom of this bull

On the verge of this lampoonery

After one or two false starts

We still may never hit our stride

And the game that just won’t end

Heck, we can improvise or guess

Or artfully pray to get around

‘Cause I still got my own pride

From the bottom of this bull

 

And if you excise ‘Watha shamelessly devouring his Domino’s Pan Crust, WHAT could you point to that would indicate we’re at a ball game? Okay, the backstop but I could transplant that structure on American Bandstand promising the teeny bops that heartthrob Donny Osmond was going to sing a duet with Harry, getting the girlie-girls to faint on “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. Just don’t blow the teenyboppers with your Bud breath, Harry. Later, both of them close the show with “Sweet and Innocent”, Mimi accompanying on the flute that’s part of the song. We naturally assume your 5-game softball season is over, Mimi. Tomorrow is July.

Really, the only thing missing in this crowd is Dick Clark. We don’t think he’s going to advertise DQ Burgers if the Domino’s dude is talking to one of the members of Fairport Convention. And Peter Brady showed up to disco and take in a game. So did Roy Clark in the background, only substitute “generic country tune” for “disco”. Shame, because you could insert this inanity on Hee Haw and tell everybody it’s a skit. Who would believe otherwise? Yeah, there’s Lulu coaching in the first base box. And Junior Samples lining the field before the game. Before he takes his position in centerfield. Yeah, Junior, you might want to shade that Mudlark a little left. He likes to pull. Then what are those kids doing here? Are they part of Pete and Pete? Remember that episode when Pete and Pete were trying to get the personal skinny on the ice cream man who frequented their neighborhood? And Michael Stipe of REM, who plays a fellow ice cream man, rebukes the kids by pointing out “He sells you ice cream at a cheap price. What more do you want?”

“Domino’s dude, do you use whips and chains on your wife?”

“Uhhhhhh, would you kids want another extra large pizza cookie? I got plenty of chocolate chip slices in the freezer bag. I brought plenty of dry ice so the chocolate chips won’t melt. You don’t want to get sick. You want to grow up big and strong.”

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Headline

“Coach Thorp Cited For Streaking At Milford Outdoor Amphitheater!!!!!!!!! Court Date To Be Determined Later!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Just because I was wearing my grass skirt at a Buffett concert? Shoot, the only other time I wear it is at night when I’m in estrus with Mimi.”

 

We can’t see the future but beg it’s coming swift

It’s not hard to find yourself knee-deep in this BLEEP

It’s come a lot of Mondays since the exile on that day

Through months and trysts and protein fixtures, we wish this to be spayed

 

From the bottom of this swill

On the edge of all this Blarney

After one or two false starts

Whitewash this with cyanide

And the game that just won’t end

Heck, we can estimate or guess or simply fool around

‘Cause this ain’t got no pride

From the bottom of this swill

 

And Heather Burns Who Cops An Attitude Who Goes by the alternate Appellation, Corina, we know your outlike on life is testy but is there really any need to address Hiawatha James “The Other Catcher”? Thorpiverse finally admitted it in P1, this is nothing more than a scrimmage between the Hickory Huskers and the townies, Myra Fleenor officiating. At least we believe Myra will wear a powder blue shirt, not zebra stripes to confuse the townies. Anyway, Corina’s outlook on life got her with the townies when the fate of the gods was choosing up sides.

“Hey, Other Coach, as soon as you get done teaching the Milford Freshman Golf team that ‘Negotiating the ball across the bridge that shoots up periodically is like negotiating with the boss in a job interview, you might not get the job because he jumped up to wipe his crack in the bathroom after his hemorrhoids flared up’, how’s about a date. One of those restaurants that has no name that me and the girls always go to cooks a mean ravioli.”

Gil and Mimi tied the knot months later in a pledge of eternal bliss.

 

At the Milford Country Club bar, Gil during Karaoke Hour performing a classic Ray Parker, Jr., the Milford High School Honors Alto section and Milford High School Jazz Ensemble accompanying him

“I’m in love.”

I’M IN LOVE

“With the other principal.”

Doo doo. Doo doo DOO DOO DOO

“I’m in love…”

 

“Domino’s dude, do you wear a diaper when you crap your pants?”

“Uuuhhhhhh, You kids want some more pepperoni? There’s a couple more boxes and everybody else is headed towards the exits.”

 

If ya stop the Milford Conservation Club Turkey Shoot in the middle of nowhere at sum bare ground where they wuz once a fireplace and it’s still got sum loose beer cans roamin’ around th’ underbrush ta fellowship with sum rotgut and sum pepperoni pizza with pepperoni made from sum ostrich farm and ya gotta restack the sticks ta make another fire ta fire up th’ rotgut, ya might be a redneck.

 

These days baseball commences ’bout the time The Longest Day concludes

Making sense was once the deal, now we watch PizzaFest exude

Situation’s pointless and predictable unlike sports viewed in real life

But I’ll the fans and The Mayor, careful with that knife

 

From the bottom of this junk

On the edges of our sanity

After one or two false starts

This certainly isn’t bona fide

And the game that just won’t end

Heck, we can speculate or grope or find a way around the bend

‘Cause this stinks 6 feet wide

From the bottom of this junk

 

At the Milford Comedy Club one night

“…are you The Other Principal? And Dr. Pearl answered ‘What do I look like, Mr. Weatherbee who soaks his dentures in Palmolive’?”

Gil once again falls flat

The stereo system comes to life

“…with these changes in latitudes

Changes in attitudes

Nothing remains quite the same

 

With all of our running

And all of our cunning

We couldn’t laugh

This plot just went insane…”

 

And from the looks of P3, allow me to recreate a scene

“Hey, Other Coach, after you teach your charges that shooting through the cannon to make par is like when your house is on fire and you have to run through the spare shower where Granny uses Prell to get rid of the gray when she runs out of Grecian Formula and if you ignore the urine smell she leaves, you’ll shoot out of the house unscathed and your score will improve, how about a lunch date at Milford Denny’s? They have a pancake special that flattens The Bucket Breakfast Menu.”

“Other Softball Coach With A Fluffy Schedule, any way you can call me ‘Gil’?”

“Do I have to?”

 

Don’t you think that has possiblities? And this was before she got lavaliered.

 

“Domino’s dude, is it true you worked on the chain gang at Milford Correctional Center laying down rail for Milford & Oakwood and your present job is part of a Work Release Internship Program?”

“Uhhhhhhhhh, you kids want anymore breadsticks? They’re a little stale but it’s that or I’m going to give them to my bloodhounds.”

 

“And the party is well underway. I have a couple of Pepperoni/Hawaiian Pineapple under my microphone. We’ll be back after these messages with score, Milford, 8, Valley Modified, 0. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

 

 

At Coach Shaw’s house at bedtime

“Honnnnnnnnneeeeeeyyyyyyy, it’s time to have some funnnnnnnnnnnnnn, it’s-”

Coach Shaw in the den with his Jazz guitar

“Darling, why are you wearing a grass skirt?”

“…dance to the left, dance to the right, cheeseburgers in paradise…

Oh hi, Mrs. Shaw. They’re having an audition for the upcoming Jimmy Buffett concert at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater and I want to put on my best front. You like it?”

“Honey, remove the apparel and let’s go to bed and make our own music.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead letting Mr. Buffett see my Fruit of the Looms. There is such thing as decorum. You never saw Benjamin Franklin’s crack when he was making a speech up on the podium about hanging together or hanging seperately

“And any manual labor I’ve done is purely by mistake…

It’s my job

To be worried half to death

And that’s another

Reason to stick with Gil

It’s my job but without it

I’d be a pud

And permanently hiding in the trees”

 

“Honeyyyyyyyyyy, I’m sure Jimmy Buffett has seen holy underwear with semi-brown stains in the crotch. And I see it every night but I won’t dismiss you from the band.”

“I can never be too careful. If I can sound like Earl Klugh and stick some Renuzit down my Levi’s, I’ll bet Mr. Buffett will never sniff anything out

Wasting away again in Margaritaville

(Coach Shaw swaying back and forth in his skirt)

Searching for my lost shaker of salt

(Coach Shaw vigorously shaking his skirt, causing the ants to flee)

Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame but I know

(Coach Shaw executing Elvis the Pelvis thrusts with the skirt)

It’s my own damn fault”

(As skirt gracefully drops to the floor, exhibiting semi-brown stains previously discussed)

“I knew I shoild have used the staple gun. Those bobby pins couldn’t hold Gil’s jock together when he’s bowling.”

 

“I had more than malfunctioning grass skirts to worry about. My whim whim was hanging like some of the dead grass in the skirt. I had to own up and head to Milford Men’s Clinic. With excellent treatment programs meant to send your sex life into orbit, isn’t it time you had changes in attitudes? Don’t get callous in Dallas, do like Mr. Buffett said and get off of A-1-A and back on the mainstream to sexual performance. You won’t laugh, you will go insane with pleasure. Only at Milford Men’s Clinic.”

 

Gang, We had pizza AFTER the game was over but otherwise, you’re #1 in my book. God bless you.

 

 

Dick Clark on American Bandstand

“What did you think of this plot?”

“It stinks like rhino BLEEP and it doesn’t have a good beat. It’s got the rhythm of Dr. Pearl’s pacemaker. Definitely pisses in the wind.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. And we’ll be right back after these messages.”

To the producer

“I hope the censors caught that. I like to run a clean image on this show.”

 

 

 

“Coach Thorp, how did you comport yourself before you married Mimi? Did you hump your bed a lot?”

“Uhhhhhhhh, you kiddies want to practice your free throws some more? Remember, arch and a spin, go for the rim.”

 

 

 

 

June 25, 2020

What Did You Expect From This Rec League Scenario? Dutch Rennert?

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 8:43 am

 

Gang, in the 2+ years you have known me, I’m guessing you can conclude that I’m not one to gloat but after today’s strip I have something to say that I just never say: I told you so.

Thorpiverse tried to sneak this past the readers, thinking nobody would notice that this really would never happen if any State Athletic Association had anything to do with it.

But OK, Thorpiverse, you did a great job of leaving the beer keg in the trunk until the Revenuers or the College President went to The Bucket for lunch, then you shanghaied it to the equipment box by the diamond. Hey, the College President wouldn’t even THINK to look there. He would just assume there’s catcher’s mitts, protectors, bats, batting helmets, but no beer keg. And you laid tarp over the box. Good move. You can always say you were just drying it out. No harm no foul.

Well, looks like you succeeded as the fraternity party is well under way. Heck, Dr. Pearl and the College President might stop in for a brew. If you manage to smuggle this plot or the beer past security, well, this Bud’s for you, Thorpiverse.

“Coach, I can’t find that other catcher’s mask.”

“Did you look under the keg of Bud Light?”

 

And you old-timers know who I’m talking about. Dutch Rennert was about as colorful an umpire as Major League Baseball has ever seen. Gotta give him credit, he was voted most consistent several times when calling balls and strikes. And he had that manner that was hard not to notice when you were watching the game.

STRRIIIIIIIIIKKKKKEEEEEEEE

Turn towards the backstop, kneeling

ONNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

And I’d swallow this if they had a Dutch Rennert out there keeping order. I mean, this is flat-out ridiculous. Rec League SOFTBALL UMPIRES????? Thorpiverse, you better check your procedural manual again. Umpire procedures for Rec League Softball and High School Baseball are about as different as professional journalism and Marty Moon.

The obvious is the strike zone. In Amateur Softball Association (ASA) , a strike is called when the pitch  is at least 6 feet and no more than 12 feet and it enters an area between the batter’s highest shoulder and his knees when he is square at the plate and is in a natural batting stance. A baseball strike was basically between the armpit and the knee with no height restrictions under roughly similar batting stances. Guys like Rickey Henderson, great as player that he was, was a nightmare to call at the plate with that exaggerated crouch. You just had to use your better judgment. The point is that calling a pitch that is going 15 feet that you call “illegal pitch” on and you have to extend your left hand out and make a fist and the batter still swings at anyway for (perfectly legal) is entirely different from calling a pitch from a high school pitcher that is going 70-80 miles/hour and you can’t say anything until the ball lands in the mitt.

You factor in different position procedures, such as base umpire in Rec Softball NEVER starts out within the baselines, stays out roughly halfway between 1st base and 2nd base when runners are on base (though he many times indeed goes within the baselines so that he is in position to make the call for tag plays at 2nd or 3rd base whenever the ball is hit) , and this unsanctioned Charity League event, complete with part-time umpires with emphasis on part-time, wouldn’t be worth the drama at a 3rd-grade school play.

Who did the calling anyway? Gil? The Mayor? I think we’re safe to say Dr. Pearl didn’t extend the contracts for these Bush League umpires to sign, not that anybody bothered to extend a contract. Shove a contract in front of a guy with a beer gut that can barely fit the umpire chest protector over his powder blue shirt he wore at his wedding and his girlfriend sewed the ASA patch (one inch below the left shoulder, Ma’am) to keep it legal (swallowing hard) and is doing this to supplement his income at Milford Foundry? And the players in the infield/outfield can see his crack when he’s brushing off home plate (never brush dirt towards the batter and/or catcher) ? Dr. Pearl, now where do I sign my John Henry?

 

“He still has to have an ASA-approved cap, Dr. Pearl. I got one in my office when I umpired the Mudlark 50-and-Over Classic last year.”

“And Gil, I think I have an indicator in my desk under my Officiating Payroll Report-2015. All right, well, I’m going to go make triplicates of these contracts and we should be good to go. We’ll see you both Sunday. Incidentally, your fly is open.”

 

STTTTTTTRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKEEEEEEEEE

CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!! SMASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“Oh Gil, look what you’ve done. Now I’m going to have to get more potted plants at Milford Nursery. Did you have to work on your mechanics on the patio????? And Thatch Rennert, you aren’t.”

“That’s ‘Dutch’, Mimi”

“Whatever, don’t quit your day job.”

 

P1-“More dentists and Valley-Alternative-Players-That-Were-Benchwarmers-Or-Kept-The-Stat-Book-At-Their-Former-High-School recommend Trident over the leading brand. Keep that toothy smile and that fist pumping and enjoy Trident in Regular or Cinnamon even while you’re enduring an old-fashioned, non-sanctioned butt-whipping.”

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Will Not Umpire Game This Sunday; Could Not Get Patched In Time.”

sub headline

“I couldn’t attend the necessary number of meetings because I had a Milford Summer Adult League Rec Football commitment.”

 

And the holes are beginning to show. Many of you readers have had kids in sports, so you know what I’m talking about. There’s always some team that puts up its best face for 2-3 innings or 2 quarters, then the bottom drops out. You admire them for its valiant effort but it’s clear overachieving can only go so far. Good coaching and a talented roster many times prevail over a team that’s trying but is clearly overmatched. Just a matter of time before the warts show through.

Pretty much the case in P2. I guess the exclamation mark on the shirt that you’d buy at Six Flags over Milford after knocking over the bowling pins pitching underhanded with a spongy softball can only intimidate so far. As Coach Stuard used to tell me, they can only put 9 players on the field at one time. And 9 guess-we’ll-call-them-players with shirts that would be part of the Up With People troupe dancing to “Shiny Happy People” with Michael Stipe as guest vocalist at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater really isn’t going to strike the fear of God into Thorp’s troops. Gil’s a lousy coach but we’re assuming he knows how to map out strategy against a team with pseudo-talent and even lousier fashion statements.

One year, the high school I support went up against a team twice its size in a football playoff. At the start of the game, while our team was warming up, they spread their 100-odd players along the sidelines. Trying to intimidate. Our coach said it best at the beginning “Still can only put 11 on the field.” Coach Wilson, I knew we hired you for a reason.

That said, I think we might have been blown away with 100 Bozos with exclamation points. That’ll stare down the opposition.

 

If ya wear a shirt with a profile of a tiger with a semi-colon on his molars while yuz got camouflage makeup on cuz ya think it’ll give ya an edge on yore huntin’ buddies when yore tryin’ to bag a rabbit, ya might be a redneck.

 

Come to Jeff Smith Marathon in Edwardsville, Indiana. They are still going strong even with the pandemic hitting. Pumps were still busy and they were still fixing cars. And as long as people do indeed practice social distancing, I bet the place will STAY busy. Georgiana was there to greet me today and Crystal is also a friendly face. Gang, with 2 courteous people and great gas and service, why go anywhere else? Take Exit 118 off I-64 in Indiana, head on 62 West and it’s the first road to your left off the freeway. You can’t miss the station. Come in where they know your name.

Support Small Business, Gang. They keep America rolling.

 

That’s right, Mr. Mayor-cum-Casey-Stengal-wannabe. Bring ’em in because NOBODY can play this game around here. And tell the Bad News Marines that you can still hold off Santa Anna and his 1 ×10*6 Mexicans at the Alamo. Just put down the tailgate when you’re fielding the ball. Watch the ball all the way in when you’re at bat. 2 hands and squeeze. That oughta hold off the 1st 2 regiments. And tell Davy Crockett not to waste so much ammunition. It’ll throw out his arm.

And one can only guess what that wayward caption to the right is supposed to signify. My money says it isn’t Miss Othmar cheering on Linus and exhorting him to hang in there after he’s dropped 10 in a row. Gotta get under them if you want to catch those cans of corn.

 

WAH WAH WAH

“I know I should have brought my shades along, Miss Othmar. I could have caught a couple of towering shots anyway. But it’s water under the bridge now.”

 

The only other viable option is that Gil may be wanting to call a truce. Oh, don’t kid yourself, he STILL wants to add another victory to his non-sanctioned-coaching ledger but I wouldn’t be surprised if he is tired of watching the ball go through Alfalfa’s legs at 3rd, Spanky run the bases the wrong way like a pig running from its master, Buckwheat miss the bunt sign and swing for the fences and spoil the big inning for the Rejects, Butch the Bully miss the cutoff and the throws wind up on the DRINKS table, and Darla the Attitude ask the home plate umpire what’s on the menu at The Bucket. Unwarranted fraternization probably tipped the scales. Eisenhower is willing to not besiege Normandy Beach if the Germans will go quietly and get on the next Greyhound bound for Berlin.

But that of course remains to be seen. But I did see a couple of Deutscher Panzer Korps packing their Nike bags in the stowaway section covered by the dog logo when you shut the hatches.

 

STTTTTTTTTTTRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEEEE

Turns towards the bag of Scott Mulch in Gil’s garage

ONNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“You still got it. You’ll be perfect for Keri’s Instructional League this Saturday.”

 

And what in the name of Thurman Munson are people doing wearing blue jeans?????? Hello? You ARE a baseball team even if that is liberally defined. At least the Bad News Bears didn’t wear Haggar Action Slacks when they were getting run-ruled.

Phil Niekro made a good point at a seminar when he told a group of ladies that if they wanted to play baseball, play BASEBALL not softball. I couldn’t agree more. No wonder why that may be Gil calling time out. I mean, thank God he didn’t cross the line so that he otherwise woild have to replace his pitcher. With the Bad News Marines in their road Levi’s, saints be praised that’s not an issue. STILL, I am having nightmares what P4 could be entailing

“Time, ump. No, I don’t have to replace my pitcher. That’s when OUR team is in the field. You’d know that if you were patched for State Athletic Association games. And you don’t call ‘Illegal pitch’ on a knuckler. Get to the required number of meetings with a grade of 75 on the open book exam before you go jacking your jaw on the baseball rules.

But I didn’t come to bitch about Fat Boy having to slide when a tag is immanent. I have some extra baseball pants in my U-Haul trailer out in the parking lot. I’ll even allow for a 1/2 hour for them to get changed. We agreed to no time limit anyway. We play until Dr. Pearl steps out of the meeting at the wrong time and calls the State Police. And I’ll even throw in cups. No way they can fit those damn things in their denims.”

 

Overheard behind a mutant poplar

“How do you put this thing in?”

“No, dipwad, the OTHER way. And those have got to be the nastiest-looking Underroos.”

 

Or it could be Gil wanting to call time to call Mimi about what’s for dinner. Third straight day for Spam and Gil is wanting variety.

But the previous outline seems more feasible.

 

Speaking of Casey, and really just about sums up the Bad News Marines, there’s a true story about when Casey was managing the Mets and one of his batters hits a smash that’s a sure triple. The runner rounds the bases and indeed winds up at third. But then one of the umpires says he missed second and calls the runner out. Casey, livid as the day is long, goes out to argue. While he’s arguing, the first base umpire comes over and says the runner also missed first. Casey is fit to be tied then points towards the runner and says “Well, he didn’t miss third because he’s standing on it!!!!!!!!!”

 

Because I was befuddled at a warehouse that claimed to be a funeral home that I observed while making a run for my dad

“And Gil calls time on the field. Looks like he wants to extend the right hand of fellowship because he’s already extended a size 12 up the asses of the Bad News Marines. Time to take a break, with the score, Milford Mudlarks, 15, Bad News Marines, 1, on the inside-the-park homer by Spanky. Folks listening on the radio, I wish you could have seen his Hanes on fire. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports”

“It is never a festive occasion when we lose a loved one. I know when I lost my cousin in The War of the Roses, a piece of my heart got ripped out and wound up in the pocket of a Bad News Marines’ Levi’s

But you also want piece of mind when your dearly departed croaks, sure, we all do. Greetings, this is Dr. Pearl with Milford Funeral Solutions. And they have gone out of your way to enhance your funeral experience. No more throw the rice on them and watch the tractor lower them in the ground. MFS has constructed a warehouse where it essentially acts as a mausoleum. Some people want a little more time to bid adieu and for the cost of a key at Milford Storage, they can see that dream come true.

All they need to do is pay a nominal security deposit and a reasonable installment plan and they’re practically walking with them to Beulah land. That’s correct, one slide of the card and a simple pass code and they can view their own personal Lenin’s Tomb. I remember when my uncle was killed at First Bull Run. Lord have mercy, the number of times I slid my card so I could go in and share my girlie secrets with him. He always understood. And later, when they moved him next to General Grant after he died, it was like watching the War Between the States unfold in fromt of your eyes.

And even better news, the warehouse is on Milford Climatrol temperatures. The sensors pick up when your dearly departed is about to fumigate and decay and answers the crisis every time. My neighbor who witnessed the Treaty of Paris has been well-preserved in his pickle jar because the Climatrol knew when his skin was going to croak. John Jay has never lost his epidermis in this warehouse, let me assure you.

And with affordable rates for funeral planning that includes a free minister of the denomination of your choice, it is safe to say Milford Funeral Solutions has you covered from death to warehouse to grave. You won’t need flea powder to rid your loved one’s person of fleas. With Climatrol, I never saw my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother wear a flea collar when she was lying in state. Come get true satisfaction and comfort at Milford Funearl Solutions. The only thing you have to lose is your loved one.

 

Aren’t you waiting with bated breath for this game to end? Anyway, thank God YOU aren’t a Bad News Marine. God bless you, Gang.

 

Dutch Rennert practicing his mechanics in Ms. Rizk’s room

SSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTRRRRRRRIIIIIIIKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEE

Ms. Rizk typing an article on Dr. Pearl’s parking tickets at the Administrator’s Enrichment Symposium

ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEE

“Be careful, Mr. Rennert. You almost knocked over the ink bottle. I want to publish that article on The Mayor’s aborted affair with Phoebe Keener this Friday.”

 

At the ballpark

“Strike.”

“C’mon, ump. 6 feet, 12 feet. Their pitcher is throwing flatter than Dr. Pearl’s 3-day-old Maxwell House in her office.”

“Coach, this is baseball. We’re not using ASA rules, remember?”

Coach Kaz interjects

“Sit down, Gil.”

 

 

June 22, 2020

That’s Assuming The Story IS Going To End.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 11:49 pm

gt06232020

 

He was Jack LaLaine, the protein rich food fad guy who bragged about rippled muscles by eating protein rich Lay’s Rippled Chips and Milford Dairies 1% Soy Milk out of his canteen, now he’s a sorry-ass imitation of Gunnery Sergeant Highway, trying to save face by attempting to make Marines and/or ballplayers out of people who SUPPOSEDLY go to Valley Alternative. At least Highway got soldiers because he had a whole military base to draw from. No recruiting Marines off the playground at Milford Day Care Center or at Milford Senior Living Condominiums. He didn’t barge in and interrupt the shuffleboard tournament by throwing the tape player that was playing “Detroit Rock City” by Kiss (“Destroyer” is one of my favorite albums, BTW) which smashed to itty-bitty bits on the tile floor like he did with those greenhorns-that-shouldn’t-have-been-greenhorns in “Heartbreak Ridge”. Couldn’t you see him going through a similar tirade with retirees playing for bragging rights at the Senior Center?

“I’m here to take charge and show you ladies that your partying and wild sex and booze days are over RIGHT NOW. Just because your last leader was a pussy doesn’t mean you’re going to get similar treatment now!!!!!!!!!!!!! You’ll start to march like Marines, eat like Marines, play shuffleboard like Marines and pretty soon, Goddammit, you’ll start acting like Marines!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil, you got your discharge over 60 years ago. And would you pick up all the Coke cans you knocked out of the trash can? It’s hard to maneuver the shuffleboard piece past a Nehi bottle.”

For all we know, The Mayor could be talking to Buddy Hackett’s great grandson. Oh, there’s an authority to prognosticate how they’re going to fare this Sunday. Buddy IV was working the crowd at Milford Comedy Club until his act was pulled because the Bad News Marines were in need of an outfielder with power. And Buddy IV can read the pulse of the team and offer advice just like Heather the other day, well, never mind, bad example.

Because I am not entirely convinced we have players that actually ATTEND Valley Rejects Vocational Arts Academy, some of these guys could come from just about anywhere. Where’d the dude with the Blu-Blocker glasses originate? Did The Mayor look up some palm tree. And what about the guy whose waistline suggests he hasn’t missed a meal? I bet The Mayor didn’t recruit him from a fat farm. One can only wonder. I think it’s an even safer bet he didn’t offer Chunky a menu only Charles Atlas would proffer to keep from drying up and blowing away. No cheese fries out if his Thermos, I’m guessing.

But as it stands, it IS a baseball team, full of more undeveloped characters than the guest stars on Life With Bozo. Sure, Corina, you have an attitude that can suck an egg. Now make like a drum and beat it so that we can chew on another undeveloped character and throw THAT half-eaten corn on the cob in the trash before Milford Disposal Concepts makes the rounds.

 

GET UP

EVERYBODY’S GONNA PLAY THERE SUNDAY

GET DOWN

‘NOTHER PLOT MAYBE RISE UP MONDAY

 

MILFORD ROCK CITY

 

“Dr. Pearl, The Mayor wants to know if he can call your grandson to play on his team.”

“His number’s unlisted, Gil.”

“What are you doing with that makeup on? And why is your tongue sticking out?”

“Women can look like Gene Simmons too.”

 

And okay, Mayor, we’ll swallow the fact that you recruited members from Our Gang to play on the team. The chubby guy with the exclamation point spanning his gut is Spanky. The guy with the ponytail is Alfalfa. Buckwheat is the one with the shades. And Darla ditched the skirt to adopt the tools of ignorance and an attitude along the way to play catcher.

But WIN WITH OUR GANG???? You better have brought along a believeable script. I wonder if it’s under the helmets in the equipment bag. And say Gil and Kaz wink-wink their way to the dugout and map out strategy. Hmmmmmm

“Spanky has no range at first. Too many Cocoa Puffs and Schlitz all those years. I’d have my lefties pulling it every time. Buckwheat has problems hitting a curve. If he’d take off those Blu-Blockers, he could crush a hanging offering every time. And if you say something to Darla about her mother, she’s been known to assault you with her catcher’s mask. An early ejection in the bag.”

Darla behind the plate, the batter a bit loose-lipped

“Hey, Darla, Coach Thorp thinks you ought to be his wife’s water girl on her softball team since you couldn’t catch a cold. And that crouch like Tony Pena? Did you watch that on his instructional video?”

WHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPP

Gil to Kaz

“Well, she gone.”

 

Gil

This plot is wanting

And we bang our heads all night

Players that should be spectators

On the bleachers in their own right

Just a few more hours and this quasi-game will be through

I think I hear them booing

Oh, Gil

What can we do?

 

At Milford Adult Shoppe

“We need a 3rd baseman BAD and I heard you have a rifle arm.”

“Let me talk to one of my co-workers and see if we can’t switch days on the schedule. The game’s this Sunday?”

 

And what is this secret weapon???? The last time a secret weapon came to the forefront, Milford Mudlarks beat the Mighty Rutland Tigers implementing Flubber to do its runs up the middle, runs around end (a bit difficult for a football player with balloons for shoulder pads but as Coach Stuard always told me “Good teams find a way to win, bad teams find a way to lose”) , buttonhook patterns (see above) , fly patterns. And they won the game kicking the ball from the 98-yard line using Flubber to the NerfFootball. Game over.

But that was football. What is The Mayor going to do, fill Spanky up with Flubber by sticking a tube in his shorts? And he better find a way to weigh himself down when he’s at bat. I know some pitchers knock you off your feet but this is ridiculous. I’ll admit his Flubber is an asset in the outfield. Ain’t nobody from Thorp’s Troops gonna lift one to the stands if all Spanky has to do is jump 95 feet in the air. It’s bad enough when the wind is blowing in at Wrigley but when a Flubberized Alfalfa robs Dave Kingman of sending one to someone’s portable pool on some sun deck on Waveland, well, time to fold the cards.

And Flubber does indeed come in handy in rundown situations. If Buckwheat gets caught between 2nd and 3rd, surely he can hang in the air until the 3rd baseman isn’t paying attention.

Otherwise, The Mayor is running out of time. But leave it to Thorpiverse to bail out a player running out of time stuck in a bad plot by resurrecting Lou Gehrig and overwhelming the opposition. Sometime you gotta use some black magic to obtain that secret weapon. Desperate plots do desperate things.

 

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Calls 9-1-1 After The Mayor Won’t Take ‘No’ For An Answer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“At first, I thought he was shoving World’s Finest Chocolate until I put 2 and 2 together.”

 

And oh boy, we THINK the secret weapon is being revealed in P2, what appears to be a pitching grip for a cut fastball. Unlike a four-seam fastball, a cut fastball has less velocity and more spin as it “cuts” away from the batter if he or she is right-handed and the pitcher is right-handed as an example. The batter is expecting to see the pitch go straight but many times swings at nothing but air as the pitch moves away, much like a slider. Many pitchers like this pitch because it’s less wear and tear on the arm than the slider. Fernando Valenzuela went from Cy Young Award to barely making a Mexican League roster team because he threw mainly screwballs, an effective pitch but was murder on the pitching wrist because the wrist is going against the grain when delivering the screwgie. His wrist by the end of the ’80’s was mush (Rookie in the Majors with the Dodgers in ’81) . He was noted to have a personal jacket covering the Mexcan League team logo during the team photo shoot. An unfortunate fall from grace.

Meanwhile, back in reality, I am really trying to make sense of this. A cut fastball will strike out all 27 Mudlarks, The Mayor will become the next Don Larsen, Spanky and the rest of The Little Rascals can just pick their butts in the field, there’ll be no need to Flubberize Alfalfa or Butch the Bully, and Buckwheat will be The Natural, going yard in the 9th while his guts spill all over his Blu-Blockers.  And did I mention that The Mayor was originally slated for left field (you can look it up, April 7 post) ?He went to the Valley Alternative Library, checked out Gil’s Winning Pitching Techniques For Your Instructional League Youngster, then practiced on a throwback net. Voila, there’ll be no joy in Milford if Mighty Casey whiffs because The Mayor figured into the scheme of things. I can see the title, instead of Remember The Rejects

“Mudlarks Get Spanked By Spanky and The Mayor”

I think we’re getting somewhere with this plot. Oughta wrap up by July. Gil still has 2 months to golf after The Unsanctioned Extravaganza of the Decade.

 

Overheard one day at Milford Adult Shoppe

“No, Coach, you don’t slide your card. Put it in, computer-chip end first in that slot.”

 

Then we get to P3, the raison d’etre of this whole burlesque. If I were to relive my second grade art session in the afternoon and I have a manila poster-size piece of paper and the Crayola box with the dimensions of an American Tourister briefcase and our teacher challenged us to draw what a Spring-training game between the Cubs and the Expos looked like, this is Exhibit A (Robmize is gonna kill me-ha ha) .

I THINK that’s the dugout. I wasn’t good at drawing hamster cages, let alone the hamsters themselves. And rumor has it that Gil called his old buddies from the French Foreign Legion to show up. Hey, sometimes these kill-the-non-sanctioned-ump affairs can get a little testy. And is that Andre Dawson doing stretching exercises with Ellis Valentine in the far open bleachers? I can’t really tell, he has his hat on backwards. Drawing blobby people can take things out of context.

And if you’re thirsty, you have DRINKS. Looks like The Mayor followed through on hocking one of those Valley Alternative cafeteria tables. They weren’t used in the last plot anyway, might as get some mileage out of them. And you can’t afford to run out of Kool-Aid at this game-under-the-table. A lot riding on the Vegas line. Keep that Country Tyme flowing out of the keg.

 

Over the intercom, the music keeps flowing, the current tune, Alfalfa singing “Shout It Out Loud”. Alfalfa was always a Kiss fan since they performed at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater.

Kaz to Gil

“And he’s going to sing the National Anthem??????”

“I trird to get Mel Torme but The Mayor wouldn’t go for it. Wanted a younger guy who could relate to the present generation.”

 

“This illegal contest that they won’t even tell their grandkids about is set get underway in a moment. Thank God I’m getting paid double time or they can find another sucker to broadcast this equivalent of a still on property Gil owns out in the county. I’ll be back with the starting lineups after these messages. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

“By golly, Miss Molly, I’m ready for some action and my Mudlarks are ready to battle with the adult Wee Pals, er, Valley Rejects. Oops, my goodness, I wasn’t supposed to know about this. Oh well, the State Athletic Association never sent me any forms to report illegal activities. I know nothing, I know nothing.

But here’s something I do know. The Milford Beverage Warehouse wants to enhance your relationship with Dad with these Father’s Day deals. And by gum, I wish I could go fishing with my dad at Mudlark Lake Resort and catch a rainbow trout while sipping on Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. Those days with me and him in the fishing boat would have been sweeter. Sure, the Mudlar-K-Cola Ginger Ale was okay and we still bonded but Whiskey and trout and Dad steering the fishing boat, the only thing missing was the Swedish Bikini team trailing in the other fishing boat.

There are some of you who prefer a cookout on the patio, grilling Angus Choice burgers while Pop doesn’t sip pop but a can of Coors Light from that 30-Pack that you only shelled out $20.49 to make him feel special on this wondrous occasion. I don’t blame you. Sometimes you have to let your hair down and leave the horseradish in the cabinet. Mustard on burgers and talking about the Industrial C League Blue Dot Modified Championship over a canbof Bud with Pop, well, I wish I had my dad around to swap bowling stories with at those kind of prices. I’ll lie about a couple of the gutter balls I rolled just because I wouldn’t want to mar the occasion. Coors tastes flat when that happens.

And I understand you wussies have fathers too even though that’s sometimes hard to stomach. I’d rather have the Heimlich Maneuver performed on me to pump out the bagels and lox. But Milford Beverage Warehouse caters to you pussies with this door-busting deal, a 750ml bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay at a pussy-friendly $9.97. Makes me want to be a pussy myself.

And don’t tell anybody, especially not Dr. Pearl, but since this waste of a lining the field is non-sanctioned, we are technically legal and can sell booze at this event. Just look for the blanket that somebody got out of the washing machine and spray-painted DRINKS and alcohol and Cracker Jack, well, the only thing missing is Harry at the 7th inning stretch. Let me hear ya, good and loud, indeed.

Come on down to Milford Beverage Warehouse, if you don’t imbibe at the charity event and see what you can do for your own father in his pursuit of The Good Life. I know my father would have been sitting in a lawn chair cheering me on against the Valley Rejects with a Bud he bought at the DRINKS table as part of buy 3 Laffee Taffees, get a Bud free promo. Get your own Good Life and tell ”em. Coach Thorp sent ya.”

 

You mean the world to me, Gang. Still haven’t gotten a line on the game but God bless you anyway.

 

OKAY, EVERYBODY, LET ME HEAR YA, GOOD AND LOUD, TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME

Steve chimes in

“Harry, Dr. Pearl is at a Principal’s Enrichment Seminar nearby. You might want to keep it down.”

 

I CAN COACH VICTORIES THO MY HEAD’S UP MY ASS

AND HELP OUR CENTER MAKE HIS WAY TO YALE BUT

DO YOU LOVE ME

DO YOU LOVE ME

REALLY LOVE ME

 

Heard somewhere in the stands

“Wow, I really love Destroyer. Used to play that on my 8-track when I was cruising the streets of Milford. Great choice for Coach Thorp as long as he is renewing his wedding vows.”

 

 

 

 

June 18, 2020

You Say Corina, I Say Karenna.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 4:54 am

 

 

Now wait just a Gil-pickin’ minute. Haven’t we been down this road before? Heather Burns was a slacker on her soccer team who went half-speed and even her coach chimed in that she had no future in soccer, leastwise not high school soccer especially because she needed to get her ass out of Milford if her heart wasn’t in either the town or the town sport du jour.

Then she cons her way on the football team as a water girl and winds up practically becoming Vic Braden’s version of the quarteback coach just because her daddy played college football. I mean, just because you’re in Gil’s garage doesn’t make you a riding mower nor being on Gil’s verandah makes you Mimi sipping her Canada Dry-Touch of Mudlar-K-Cola. But we played along with it even though she never really developed that blocking back who was a quarterback in his dreams but, okay, she makes a key block after studying game film with the coaches in Gil’s office. We even stomached Heather making her presence known more than Coach Shaw who had a nasty habit of going back to the bushes to hibernate after calling an audible.

Then again, 2 of my nieces were cheerleaders. Neither one detoured to the football practice to make adjustments with the offensive coordinator on the 3rd-and-long draw play. Gee, I wish my life was like the plot-on-the-fly scenarios Thorpiverse likes to design. Shoot, my nieces would be working along Buddy Ryan on the 46 Defense (gotcha, Robmize, hey, I left your Cubs out of my barbs again (ha)) .

And no way am I in the mood for Round Two. If The Man with the Lizard Face and Gumby Hairline informs us her appellation, we are to assume she probably went to Tilden like he did. Is she the bullpen coach over there? Does she scout the other high schools in the Valley Conference? Gunnery Sergeant Highway has enough on his mind teaching how to turn a double play with a grenade, we don’t need Tilden’s version of a snot-nose Heather Burns who couldn’t cut it as the football defensive coordinator at her own high school attempting to tell the Bad News Marines how to hit the cut-off. Like does she practice that in HER garage? Look, Miss-Tomato-or-is-that-Miss-To-MAH-to, learn how to pay your dues before you start barking out orders. Get a mitt and practice hitting your birdbath until you scare off the robins and finches EVERY time before you go swinging your weight about how to throw over the top when getting the relay to second, let alone where to put The Pillsbury Dough Boy. Right field may not be his forte as he’d HAVE to hit the cut-off sometime during the game. And don’t even talk about second base. You ever see the Pillsbury Dough Boy handle a grenade when he’s trying to avoid the guy sliding into him to break up the double play? Well?

 

Because I was a witness to somebody’s lawn being strewn on the freeway recently and surmising that when they took their sod with them, they didn’t shut the trunk properly or put a lock on their suitcase

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Marty Moon Fined $1000 And Court Costs After His Front Yard Was Found Scattered All Over Milford Public Grounds!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I’m going to appeal. It didn’t have my name on it. For all we know, the brown patch could have been because the Chem-Lawn Man added lye to the chemical when he sprayed. Hell, he got some on his shirt and it ate right through his collar.”

 

Thanks to Beth Houser, of New Albany, Indiana, for help with the last comedy idea. She works her butt off and is a God-send for my dad’s business. We laughed our ass off over that patch of America on our interstate system, didn’t we? You make America, Beth. God bless you.

 

And Miss Tilden the To-MAH-to, as long as you’re going to put your foot in your mouth and talk about things you don’t know about, a Heather Burns nee-quarterback coach who barks out plays from her Restonic mattress, what the Hell did you expect from a team that looked the other day like they were dressed for a church picnic? The ’86 Mets????????? Yeah, that was Mookie Wilson in the pony tail. And Gary Carter had on the Eddie Bauer Outdoor Experience khaki shorts. Keith Hernandez was that pudgy kid who got traded from the Cardinals for Neil Allen and Rick Ownbey. They’re playing for the Mudlarks now and Gil won’t let ’em wear those Izods they bought on clearance from Milford Salvation Army New Beginnings Bargain Outlet. Dwight Gooden is the catcher that can’t shoot straight, as you mentioned. Well, duh, Miss To-MAH-to, put him back on the mound. He can’t win too many Cy Young’s playing second. You’d know that if you weren’t a Bleacher Bummette.

BTW, Lenny Dykstra will help The Mayor coach on a part-time basis. Sometimes Sergeant Highway has to go on Guard Duty.

 

Hey, I know. You can take another head count because apparently The Mayor miscalculated on his roll call. As long as we all thought you were Phoebe Keener, it’s the least you can do.

 

 

If yore Milford Shady Vista Heights Trailer Park residents resolve ta form a wiffleball league so that they kin work off the excess beer gut and find an excuse not ta have ta smell the living room infested with mice farts and droppings fer at least 2 hours, ya might be a redneck.

 

And I’ll bet Teenchy knows exactly what I’m talking about when Foghorn Leghorn gets confronted by the fox, disguised as some suave bit of Joe Cool, an obvious tactic to get the hens that Foghorn is guarding.

Isn’t that pretty much what’s going on in P2?

The Mayor goes to the Valley Alternative parking lot when he hears

“Hey.”

It is Miss To-MAH-to behind the dumpster, wearing a suit some Mafioso would wear in Prizzi’s Honor and reading the Sunday Milford Enquirer

“Come here.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Who ya got playing catcher?”

“Well, I got Johnny Bench’s grandson at that position. A relative of a Gold Glove catcher can’t be all bad. And he got due processed  because he said Dr. Pearl has hair like Tommy Lasorda-”

“Uh uh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh uh’?”

“Play that player who was the 12th player but really should have been the 11th player. You’ll have the other team confused. He’ll throw ’em out by a mile at second and their pitcher’ll be throwin’ watermelons. It’ll be a Home Run Derby. It’ll be a cinch blow-out.”

“But what if Coach Thorp makes adjustments?”

“He can’t even add, what makes you think he can design a squeeze without usin’ an abacus?”

 

Gene Rayburn is back to keep our sanity from getting chopped up with a butter knife. We’re all ears, Gene

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought the Valley Rejects were going to practice _________________ to compensate for their lack of experience and/or Gil’s non-coaching.”

 

And I’LL BE THERE THIS AFTERNOON???? Does she run other operations besides the non-profit organization Second Chancers Deserve PT Too? While sitting on her duff in the bleachers and being a coach only in her dreams?

And where else is she going? Is she a contestant on WDIG-TV Bowling for Dollars? Busy life.

Oh, I get it, she’s Dutch dating at The Bucket with Wink Martindale. Cheap bastard. He’s making her pay for the Bucket o’ Home-Made Spaghetti? Sure, she’s a horse’s ass but c’mon, Wink, don’t leave a poor damsel-in-distress with a spork stuck in her mouth. We trust you have Visa Gold, Wink.

Oh, wait, she’s going through The Bucket Drive-Thru to get her free roll of toilet paper for every 20 dollars of grub purchased at the same. The way the stinky is stacking up, you might want to have a stack of 100 dollar bills handy. You might not have room to take all the rolls but price you pay for speaking about baseball without having a whit what you’re talking about.

 

GUTTER BALL!!!!!!!!!!! GUTTER BALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wink hosting Milford Bowling for Dollars, consoles To-MAH-to Face

“Awwwwwwww. Too bad. Well, a little more practice with that consolation prize, a Brunswick Deluxe, and you’ll be picking up those spares you missed-”

“SHIT!!!!!!!!! LOOK AT THE TIME!!!!!!!!!! I was scheduled to kibbutz limited scrimmage with the Valley Recyclables an hour ago!!!!!!!!!!”

 

The plot development is about as pathetic as I have seen it in quite some time. It seemed like only yesterday that The Mayor got tangled up in a cruel twist of fate, aided by a gutless teacher and a cowardly lawyer, so now his kismet is assembling a group of scrubs and hoping to transform these Harlem Globetrotter wannabes into a fighting machine against the institutions-that-be while the love affair that could have been between Phoebe Keener and The Mayor is suspended indefinitely until his culinary affairs clear The Chopping Block screening test and Mimi finds a way to manage the softball team back on track in terms of the season and any logic embroiled along the way while Thorpiverse throws another unsuspected (ironically, to no one’s surprise) monkey wrench to the scenario. Hey, love affairs and softball pitchers out for the season due to an injury and baseball players out for the season because their academic standing is out for the season that also get sidetracked by Ardis Carhee claiming that the latest plot development roadkill acts like Mt. Etna when you fill out the lineup card to her satisfaction, we just weren’t meant for these times. Except I don’t think Brian Wilson had Miss To-MAH-to Disguised As A Volcano in mind when he added that song onto Pet Sounds. Yeah, the Beach Boys usually got to the point.

Oh well. If the plot(s) continues it (their) course down the sewer, ol’ Lava Lamp can always be included in a bowling plot against the Valley Retreads at Milford Lanes after that smarting on Bowling for Dollars. She’ll have her consolation prize in a bowling ball bag, anyway.

 

“Heeyyyyyyyy, that’s the 3rd strike in a row!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mimi, you might not have to mortgage against your house after all. We’ll see if Mimi can hold off her creditors after a word from our sponsors. This is Wink Martindale for Milford Bowling for Dollars on WDIG-TV.”

 

“Greetings. This is the absentee owner at Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club. My criminal past will not allow me to reveal my true identity. I’m Batman who got fingerprinted.

But that didn’t stop me from masterminding a coup that’ll leave our customers spellbound. In short, the Milford Softball team’s loss is the Go Go Club’s gain.

“Come watch Jamila the Jumping Jewel dance on one leg on one of our tables to the tune of “Welcome to the Jungle”. My My My, our customers get some Good Vibrations in their Levi’s watching strut on one leg and whop any drunk trying to make a move on her with her crutch. If that doesn’t spell ecstasy, I’m dropping out of the Milford Elementary School Spelling Bee.

Then find out for yourself if Phoebe Keener knows how to get it on, denuding herself piece by piece while Coach Shaw plays a somber “Classical Gas” on his Jazz guitar. Isn’t it nice when the oldies keep coming back while you’re having the time of your life watching Miss Keener wrap herself around a pole? They don’t make ’em like they used to.

And don’t you dare leave without a lap dance from Alexa Warner. With that double bag she uses for a prop while giddyuping to “The Horse”, if you don’t have fun after all that, you need to get your jollies on a jungle gym.

And with Vivian the Volcano hot for some action, drinks are half off when she enters the stage. There’s plenty of incentive to watch her boogie to “Disco Inferno” while you’re slushing the night away. Sometimes she has to leave early to check the status of the local baseball outfit so get slushed early.

Come to the Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club where the only thing you have to lose is your attitude. You are sure to have the time of your life or my name isn’t John Doe. Get with it and get it on, only at the Go Go Club.

 

Gang, I still don’t know where we’re going to stash Corina in this overcrowded plot but other than that, you’re the best in my book. God bless you.

 

At the Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club Unplugged Session

“I heard the call from Gil’s office and I’ll have to burn the midnight oil again…”

Thunderous applause, the Emcee steps to the mike

“Doesn’t she sing that better than Barbara Mandrell?????”

 

Heard in the audience

“Norbert, I didn’t know she ran around on Gil.”

“Me neither, Helen. I thought they were a happy couple. Worked well as a team.”

 

 

 

 

 

June 16, 2020

Ground Control To Major Tom, Watch Out For That Beach Ball Hurtling Towards Your Ship At Warp Speed.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 8:37 am

 

Ground Control to Major Gil

Ground Control to Major Gil

Gulp your protein shake and strap your Mudlark helmet tight (ten, nine, eight, seven, six)

 

Commencing Playdowns, your game face on (five, four, three)

Check veracity and God help you against the hoods (two, one, GOLF PLOT)

 

This is Ground Control to Major Gil

You really flunked the grade

And the readers wish to know the gist you wear

Try to make time for the tee off if you dare

 

This is Major Gil to Ground Control

I’m stepping in it now

Baseball’s floating in a most peculiar way

And the softballs appear like pumpkin orbs today

 

And here

I am crouching in this tin crap

Far above the truth

Milford’s reeking blue

And there’s nothing TWIMers can do

 

Okay, okay, Mimi, we know you’re attempting to take the high road and yank your pitcher out because she forgot to wash her mouth out with Listerine and gargled with Arm & Hammer Baking Soda instead but will you tell your substitute pitcher to use a regulation softball next time? Why Landry feels the need to pitch with the kickball she and her friends play with on the sandlot field on the weekends is beyond anyone’s comprehension. Oh, she’s throwing grapefruits all right. And how do you grip that spheroid in P1? Man, Landry, I hope you’re not a knuckleball pitcher. I mean, whoever saw Phil Niekro or Hoyt Wilhelm try to knuckle a watermelon? Willie Stargell, the great slugger for the Pittsburgh Pirates and part of the “We Are Family” 1979 World Series Champions once quipped that Niekro’s pitches were like butterflies with hiccups. By God, I hope that beach ball that Landry is pitching(?) isn’t a moth in disguise and DEFINITELY hope that beach ball doesn’t have the hiccups either. No wonder why the catcher is just trying to deflect the damn thing, giving up on trying to catch it once it crosses home plate.

And one more to the fire, Greg Luzinski, the great slugger for the Philadelphia Phillies asked to be taken out of the lineup whenever Niekro was pitching. He claimed it threw off his timing for a week. Shoot, if that’s a knuckle change-up from that medicine ball that Landry is offering, it might throw off Luzinski’s timing for a month. Then he might have to play for Valley Rejects. Well, once the plot of the plot of the plot of the plot of the plot returns in full circle. Or something like that.

 

Because I am concerned that Wal-Mart recalled its beef, as a dutiful citizen I think it is only fair

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Sausage Patties From Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage Processing Plant Recalled By The Food And Drug Administration!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Neighborhoods concerned after semi’s were seen transporting wild boars out of Milford Fish & Wildlife Area. A local judge issues a moratorium.”

 

This is probably about as good a time to explain the usage of the double bag rule. It has just recently come into play, being introduced around the late ’80’s/early ’90’s. The double bag was introduced with the idea that even if recreational slo-pitch softball leagues, especially adult, can get very competitive, virtually nobody is making their living from playing the game and if there’s a collision between the batter-runner trying to beat out a hit and the first baseman or pitcher trying to get the batter-runner out by tagging the base first and beating the batter-runner to the punch or if someone steps on another someone with his or her cleats because of the above scenario, all involved better hope they have good insurance and/or good lawyers. When I was umpiring rec league softball, I actually had lawyers calling me after there were collisions of this nature (“…and would you say that Gil separated the fielder’s shoulder intentionally when Gil took a hard slide into 3rd?”) .

Anyway, the double bag drastically cut down on the number of collisions as there was a white bag in its normal position in fair territory but an orange bag attached to that white bag but in foul territory. Essentially, the only time that the double bag came into play was on bang-bang plays at 1st base (no double bags at any of the other bases) and the batter-runner was required to touch the orange bag and the fielder was required to touch the white bag. If the batter-runner failed to touch the orange bag on a close play, the defense could appeal, saying the batter-runner missed the bag (similar to appealing that a runner did not tag up properly) . If, in the umpire’s judgment, it was a close play and the runner did indeed miss the orange bag and the defense appealed, the batter-runner would be called out.

But if the batter got a base hit, he or she would need to touch the white bag rounding first since there was no close play and therefore the orange bag was not a factor. And if he or she slid back into first from, say, a snap throw from a fielder, again, he or she would be required to slid into the white bag, not the orange.

And it cut down on the injuries and made collisions a thing of the past because people did not make a living off softball no matter how competitive the league. You still had to go to work the next day and the orange bag concept was a brilliant safety measure that kept that in mind. Play competitive but play smart and use the orange bag. No trophy is worth getting your feet tangled up and causing severe injury.

 

That said, fielding grapefruits utilizing a catcher’s mitt that was based on the configuration of “Mantis” just about sums up the Year of the Softball Mudlark-2020. The movie was cheesy enough, watching this gigantic robotic preying mantis based upon ’50’s technology flying around the skyline of Milford but if the Milford National Guard shot it down and it winds up on Gil’s verandah and they subsequently quarter the damn thing and create double bags and catcher’s mitts thereof, Mimi’s going to have more than pouty pitchers wanting back in the lineup to think about.

 

WHAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gil looking at the dead mantis in his backyard that crushed the shed housing his riding mower. He swears off Maker’s Mark Whiskey from that day forward

“Mimi, that’s the last of my Buds. How am I going to explain this to Milford Pest Control?”

 

Though we’re past one hundred thousand plots

The action’s standing still

And I don’t think Gil actually knows which way to go

Tells his wife softball really sucks, she knows

 

Ground control to Major Gil

Ball team’s inert, ideas gone wrong

 

Can you hear me, Major Gil

Can you hear me, Major Gil

Can you hear me, Major Gil

 

Here I am floating until golf starts

Far above, no clue

Sports has lost it hue

And there’s nothing we can do

 

 

Gang, will SOMEBODY tell Thorpiverse that nobody implements full arm extension and good hip rotation when taking a sweet swing at the pitch with their arms turned inside out? Even if you’re not much of a sports fan, I’ll bet the members at the Milford Knitting Club could tell you that you don’t swing a bat as if pretending you’re guiding a pair of oxen around a grist mill. I’m sure glad the batter didn’t use elephants.

 

Ooooooookkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back to bring meaning to lack of logic. Take ‘er away, Gene

“Dumb Dora was soooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought you could ___________________ Gil if you WAK’d him.

 

Gang, it’s bad enough that Valley Tech’s hitting clinics involve wrapping your forearms around a lathe in their Industrial Arts department. Yeah, I guess you’ll get more bat speed that way. But when Thorpiverse has been raiding the Langenscheidt Norwegian-English, English-Norwegian Dictionary, Concise Edition again, it makes me wonder if we will see the light at the end of the tunnel riding on the coattails of foreign malapropisms.

When Dagwood ran into Mr. Beasley the Mailman, they didn’t WAK into each other. When Dennis the Menace had to use the belt on Ruff’s butt because Ruff left doggie-doo on Dennis the Menace’s Hot Wheels or Henry Mitchell’s (Dennis’s dad) pipe or Margaret Nutchall’s glasses, he didn’t WAK Ruff on the behind if D the M didn’t want to get WAKKED by Henry himself (“Clean that poopie out of your mom’s jewelry case or I’ll WAK your hide good!!!!!!!!!!!!!”) . Boy, arms that are Bucket Curly Fries that go WAK in the night. What a way for Valley Tech to put on its rally caps.

 

Really, did you ever see Andy Capp WAK his wife, Flo? No, they kissed and made up any differences by the end of the Sunday strip.

 

 

“No, really, keep me in, Coach. My arm’s still good.”

“But the X-Lax is set to kick in any time now. Any more accidents on the mound and WAK’d ankles and you can hit the showers.”

 

“Tune into the next Bullwinkle episode for ‘Marjie Needs to Get Out More’ or ‘The Valley Tech Fighting Blobettes Pull Out a Squeaker’.

 

Marjie, how in the world can you win against batters that grow arms out of their abdomens and swing with the leverage of Mr. Potato Head’s appendages? Sure, it sucked to lose one that seemed in the bag but with Gil shish-kebobing plots and Mimi continuing her esoteric descriptions of situations that are in dire need of expressions in Conversation English, why should it surprise you that Christmas arrived in mid-June before The Longest Day, what with many things being gift-wrapped? Anytime you give one away to a team full of WAKKERS who do stretching exercises on a printing machine while it’s rolling Milford Enquirer off the presses, it really would have been an injustice to win the game. And you spell ‘injustice’ with a ‘c’ since your notepad seems to be attached to YOUR appendage, rendering it thereby difficult to consult your Merriam-Webster that you have stashed in your pocket. Looks sketchy to me.

 

“And Mimi gift-wraps this particular contest. She takes after her husband. And I’ll be back with final stats after these messages. This is Marty Moon. You’re listening to WDIG, a division of Learfield Sports.”

 

“Shoot, my wife almost had one in the bag but her sketchy brain got the better of her. Oh, well, you can’t ’em all. We’ll get ’em next time.

But I didn’t step to the mike to talk about women who do Transcendental Meditation on their notepad or women who are constipated in the dugout because they suffer from sketchy butts.

Folks, we here at Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage are confronted with a serious problem that is compounded by wolves in the media bent on destroying our good name. Some notepad numbskulls have been reporting that we slaughter our pigs before they have been inspected for cleanliness, hygiene, and food safety. Let me assure you, we subject every Yorkshire to a urine test and if we suspect traces of protein, back to the pick-up they go. I will not have Gil Thorp Italian Sausage from animals that tested positive from either snorting cocaine that some careless punk dropped in the sty for the pigs to freebase because that punk couldn’t  find anyplace  better to hide his wares from the law or too much cholesterol because they were grain-fed more than the Chick-Fil-A cow. When you sink your teeth into one of our Italian sausages, the only thing positive will be the taste. You have my word on that.

And some namby-pamby wussies have accused Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage Enterprises of dirty pool and dirty animals to match. They say we hunt our wild pigs and bag ’em in a Hefty Lawn ‘n’ Leaf Bag and stick ’em in the trunk where they rot until it’s time to send it down the conveyor belt to be packaged. Nothing could be further from the truth.

If it has come out of the trunk, it has been domesticated and because the alternator on the box truck was getting replaced at Milford Truck Repair. Your Gil Thorp Mild ‘n’ Spicy might have had to be transported in an unconventional manner but the trunk had been formaldehyded. But the truck was good as new the following week and we got no more Coaching and Counseling sessions with the FDA. And those pigs running over the town in some horror movie at 11:00 makes for good theater, but it’s not good sausage and I won’t take it. Your Gil Thorp Cinnamon Spice Sausage did not originate from a deer blind at Milford Fish and Wildlife or the jungles of Peru. We don’t need hunting safaris to process good sausage.

And with COVID-19, the concern is that the virus has spread to the hogs and pigs. Really not appetizing when Bob Evans let’s a few slide under thecstethoscope, is it? But I promise you, we have a traveling nurse that social distances when it comes to inspecting the health of our merchandise that makes our future Gil Thorp Hot ‘n’ Nasty Sausage and we have had VERY few complaints about the pandemic afflicting our pigs. Shoot, Tennessee Pride fired their staff doctor last week because he allowed Totino’s in the hogs’ rough. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to get people or pigs to like you. I know I wouldn’t be casting my Three Cheese before swine.

Come get a package yourself at your local grocer and let’s you and me quash these ugly rumors, whattya say? The pen is mightier than the sword until breakfast and the pen gets tired of Cheerios and wants real food in its system to keep kicking the sword’s ass. I can think of no better or safer condiment than Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage where rumors and meat get sent through the thrasher. Come thrash your hunger today.”

 

Thanks, Gang, for your unwavering support. Makes me want to get TWO Gil Thorp Sausage Biscuits instead of one.

 

Late one night on WDIG-TV’s Feature Horror Flick of the Week, “Mantis”

“…and Marjie, you should have seen that huge preying mantis lift the Milford High School bus off the ground and just WAKKED it against that utility pole!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Marjie, scratching her sketchy butt with her free hand, diligently listening to the Milford City Police officer and taking notation

“Were there any injuries?”

Gil interjects

“No, thank God it was the equipment bus.”

 

 

 

 

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