This Week in Milford

May 16, 2019

National Merit Scholarships Are TCFS?

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Wait, Linda is trolling for a button/badge? And her teammate Nancy, who isn’t even sure if she is a part of things, denied her? But there does seem to be a specific set for couples TCFS achievement? Are there any written rules at this point or at least some sort of appeals process? Will a rival badge-less clique rise up to contest the new social hierarchy only to itself recreate the rigid social boundaries it was meant to disrupt? Will we leave lots of unanswered questions and then, all of a sudden but after several tall lemonades, see Gil teaching golf to surly seven year olds at the Milford CC over the summer?

I think we know the answer to that last one at least.

Bonus points: Nancy is depicted sitting as far away as possible from the steering wheel and its potentially lethal airbag as one should.  Not sure how well she’s going to be able to steer with her elbows locked like that, but one problem at a time I suppose.

Minus points: Even though Nancy has her hands at the recommended 9 and 3 positions, in the event of airbag deployment, her chunky bracelets are sure to become deadly, if fashionable, projectiles. Also, Nancy comes across as super passive-aggressive as she tells and tells us about what happened (or didn’t) after panel one’s exciting action.

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May 9, 2019

Rocki Works In Mysterious (And Quick!) Ways

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P1: Either we skipped a few days, or Graphic Goddess Rocki whipped up some original design in just a few minutes. Perhaps she used lots of copy and paste art.

P2: That word, you keep using it…

P3: Oooooh! Thursday cliffhanger! Could they have included the proper noun along with the pronoun? Sure looks like there’s space in for a larger dialogue balloon. Truly great pacing to use the last bit of dialogue to reestablish Molly’s name.

Bonus question: What is that thing that maybe could be the back of a CRT monitor in panel three?

Minus point: I am so committed to posting these things that I can confirm that the logo in panel three is likely not that of Skyborne Advertising, erstwhile enabler of B/Robby Howry’s mass media anti-Gil ad campaign.

May 2, 2019

Work The Hippo! Feel The Flab!

Filed under: ?, Just plain sad, Milford Idiots, Oakwood, Pointy Fingers, softball — timbuys @ 7:20 am

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Truer words, Jamila. I don’t know what else I can say either. Have at it commenters!

Wait, who the hell is Carla? We’ve so far been introduced to Jamila Moses – P (stuffed hippos), Jo(y)celyn Brown – C (‘cool’ hats), Molly Hatchet – SS (synchronized skating (aka ‘Family Stuff’)), Nancy Kaffer – 3B (comic book hero blogging) and Linda Carr 2B (volleyball/David Walter abuse)…. So, who is Carla? Is the hippo named Carla?

April 27, 2019

At The Intersection of Milford and Hazard

Filed under: ?, Just plain sad, Milford Idiots — timbuys @ 7:19 am

The intersection of Hazard and Milford

Some days the week takes you there… In any case, here’s Friday’s strip as a placeholder:

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April 11, 2019

Put Me In, Coach, I’m Ready To Coach Today.

Filed under: ?, actual action, freak hands, Just plain sad, Mimi Thorp, Pointy Fingers — tdrewhardin @ 9:17 am

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Before we deal with reality here (no sarcasm intended, you know me) , is that the same fence that goes around Shawshank? We’ll never get out alive. Get busy playin’ or get busy dyin’ while we’re waiting for the clock to wind down. At least DuFresne had a stone Carver to weasel out of his own plot. And look where he wound up.

 

Outside of the Scrimmage Bust, we’ve really not seen Mimi in charge of anything and if today is any indication, that status seems unlikely to change.

Granted, teams need team leaders. Extension of the coaches. Nothing will pull your hair out if you’re trying to implement your system, philosophy, and ideas but no one cares enough to take that on the field or court and branch that system out to other players. Put Jocelynn Brown on my team ANYTIME. My ideas will spread like wildfire with her communication skills.

But P1, while I’m sure Brown will indeed develop into a team leader, if you had to translate, would ring something like “Sit yo’ ass down, Girl, I’ll go out and get her out of her funk.” Mimi, inverted hands and all, is staging little resistance at this point. Yeah, just sit on the bench, Mimi, and keep filing your nails. The inmates are still running the prison and are unlikely to relinquish control anytime soon.

“Hi, Pat Summerall for True Value Hardware. Did your hands make contact with the Milford & Oakwood coal train and you couldn’t spin away? And you’re already diagnosed with dishpan hands??

The good people at True Value have all the equipment to deal with such irregularities that won’t strain your budget.

Get a Dewalt 20V Combo Drill Kit on sale for just $159. You’ll also need a Stanley Fatmax Utility Knife to cut through the socket. Great for cutting through the wires when you’re tired of listening to Madden or Brookshier diagram another play.  That’s a bargain for $9.99. A Dewalt 30′ Tape Measure, now selling for $9.99. Gotta have accurate measurements here if you want your appendages screwed back in at the proper angle. GearWrench 8-Piece Set, an appropriate gift for anybody’s birthday, adaptable to any carpal size, on sale for $59.39. Poulan Chain Saw, in case the wrist project was more ambitious than anticipated, selling at a remarkable $55.99.

True Value Hardware has all the things you need to make life a little easier and when you’re finally able to hold tea cups without spilling Earl Grey on Gil’s lap and still be able to watch the game, life is sweeter.

But don’t take my word for it. Stop by your local True Value store and meet the friendly staff who’ll help you with your dreams and designs. And tell ’em Pat sent ya.”

What can I say about P2? It’s a given that Thorpiverse is trying to strut its stuff and flash its Withitness out for the world to see. Art patrons from all over the globe will be mightily intrigued, if not impressed, at this portrait hanging in the Gallery today, next to Dejeuner sur l’Herbe.  Girls who missed scrimmage because the Great Pumpkin was coming to Milford Farm Market to sign autographs in a questionable perspective next to a painting of naked women dining with Men About Town in Gay Paris, you couldn’t match George and Gracie any better.

So Thorpiverse is establishing the strike zone(Hoo boy) by showing what the diamond would look like if we were forced at gunpoint to give up our American Express Traveler’s Cheques AND take a snap shot from a certain angle, focusing on the catcher settling down the pitcher.

And, as mentioned earlier, Jocelynn could possibly be another Ozzie Bean, a catcher on Gil’s team who knew how to shrewdly handle a pitching staff. Yup, Milford Penitentiary was operated by John Dillenger and Pretty Boy Floyd back then, too. I felt sorry for the Sysco semi trying to implement food logistics past those 2 clowns.

Anyway, when she’s telling Kareem Abdul-Jabbar to quit aiming her sky hook and just pitch, is that the 3rd baseman to their left? Really no way that could be the shortstop, Ted Williams was left-handed, unless they got ANOTHER shift on an extreme pull-hitter who’s a 3rd base umpire’s nightmare. But what in the name of Dutch Rennert is she doing facing AWAY from the scheme of things???? Saying “Hi Mom”? If we wanted to be truly fair with perspectives, Mom would have to be perched along with the buzzards with their binoculars watching the same game on one of the branches on the mutant poplar in the background. I reckon that affords a better view than the bleachers and we’ll excuse Thorpiverse for mutant poplars taking foliage liberties in early April. Okay, T-verse, it’s in full summer bloom even if the sugar maple trees in the neighborhood around here are just now shooting out its whirlygigs(wink, wink).

So is the 3rd baseman playing pitch and catch? That’s what warm-ups before the game are for, amiright? And WHO would she be tossing to? The 3rd base umpire, who was last seen hiding behind the tarp rather than get pelted with a down-the-line job, at least that’s what the Missing Persons show reported anyhoo.

“If you’ve seen this man, call now at 1-800-THE-LOST or text at umpireisonthelooseandhis familyisgettingworried@yahoo.com. You can leave an anonymous tip and your call can help track down a man who’s needed for the Milford American Legion Tournament next weekend. He is in his 30’s, has blond hair, hazel eyes, calls a strike zone wider than Gil’s verandah, makes an occasional bad call at 2nd base because he’s dyslexic and thinks that’s 1st base. Please, if you’ve seen him, go to the phone IMMEDIATELY. Your tip does make a difference.”

 

Is the 3rd baseman playing pitch and catch with the 3rd base coach? That, BTW, wouldn’t be Mimi. Try giving the green light when the runner’s rounding 3rd with your hands welded in reverse. Man o man, the welder down at Milford Steel ought to take a urine test pronto. Don’t flash the bunt sign, Mimi.

The only other option is she’s pitching horseshoes. True, there might be a horseshoe pit by the batting cage and I’m sure horseshoe-tossing instills character and competitiveness, in that order (“RINGER!!!!!!!!! IN YOUR FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “CARR, SHAKE HANDS WITH BROWN OR YOU’LL BE RUNNING LAPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!”) , but even if there is one (Thorpiverse and its Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds outlook on the softball diamond) , NO WAY could she be doing that with her cauliflower-shaped glove (Milford Sporting Goods were out of Spalding Rutabaga Special Edition) . She won’t get too many ringers that way.

Finally, the (fingers crossed) left fielder with the Christy Mathewson New York Giant 1905 Commemorative World Series Champion Memento uniform, complete with socks up to her pelvic area, is really out of position. No left fielder stands 3 feet from the fence on the 3rd base side unless she may be sneaking in a Camel break. Or kibitzing the 3rd baseman pitching horseshoes. She’s close enough to the action.

Or maybe

“The kisses and love

Won’t carry me

’til ya marry me

Gillllllllll

I got the Wedding Bell Bluuueesss”

 

Nah, couldn’t be whistling anything by The 5th Dimension. Just chewing on a Bazooka Joe while Jocelynn is learning Mimi’s job.

If ya swagger yore beer belly while yore standin’ in the 3rd base box as a signal that yore softball hitter’s got th’ green light on a 3-0 count ta park one over in the next softball diamond on a typical Monday night Men’s Open 40 and Over League, ya might be a redneck.

 

Jocelynn, your words of wisdom in P3 are priceless. You will make a great head coach one day. When Mimi is reduced to a role of a mannequin with her hands in reverse gear, you know the stage is yours. She and Gil are on the golf course half the time anyway.

 

 

You come on like a dream

Peaches and cream

Lips like strawberry wine

You’re six feet tall

You’re strong

And you’re still throwing heat.

 

All right, all right, get off my back. Jocelynn Brown and Ringo never met. Ringo just saw that on graffiti somewhere in Liverpool next to “Echo & the Bunnyman is God”. Just became a rough draft and the rest was history. Ringo bunked Pete Best and Mimi felt like Pete Best when George Martin wanted Jocelynn as the coach. Sue me.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’m going to get the left fielder’s autograph. Anyone have a Bic handy?

 

You walked out of my dreams

And into my arms

Now you’re my angel divine

You’re six feet…

 

 

In Dr. Pearl’s office on any given school day

“So you coached the Milford Optimist 3rd Grade Girls Softball League? What was your relationship with the fellow coaches like?”

“You have excellent references. I know Darryl Strawberry personally. He was coaching when Gil was on Sabbatical.”

“We have 3 other candidates to interview. Send me that cover letter at your convenience. My fax number is 1-888-523-9473.”

February 21, 2019

Girls Just Want To Play Ball

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Didn’t the Mudlark Girls Basketball season just whiz on by? I know they only play five games but I couldn’t even go to the fridge for a Grape Nehi, I might miss something. Isn’t Mudlark Girls Basketball Camp just right around the corner? Oh, there’s softball. No problem. Once the homer umpires are lined up, the 6-game season, grueling though it sometimes is, oughta be done before you can say Daffy Duck.

And I’m connecting a lot of dots here. Mimi “No Games” Thorp is overloadin’ on the Hills Brothers to conceal her true colors, i.e., she checked in last week at Milford Detox Center because the bottle was getting the better of her. We know, Mimi, a 5-game season can stretch your mental health and the dam just broke. Go party ’til it’s 2099 (we already passed 1999) and don’t worry about Gil. He has plenty of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books to keep him busy. We at least we know what he’s been doing when the coaching was ebbing in his life. Oh, also, when the Cocoa Puffs bird’s wife was in the hospital because she was going through labor pains (Well, SOMEBODY’S got to take Mr. Cocoa Puff’s bird’s place when he retires; why not his son/daughter?) , Gil filled in on a dime. He might be bouncing off the wall in the office after all the Cocoa Puffs he ate after enduring several commercial shoots but Kaz can cart in a dolly full of bananas from the cafeteria. Anyway, next time you see a psycho with a Joe Friday precipice advertising Lucky Charms or Cocoa Puffs, assume Lucky the Leprechaun and Koko the Cuckoo took a personal day and Gil had a bye week.

 

Oh yes, it’s Ladies’ Night

And she dumped Gil tonight

Oh yes, it’s Ladies’ Night

She’s drinkin’ Sprite

 

As part of Black History Month, Kool & The Gang, a group I deeply respect and admire, will be helping me today to scorch Mimi, who evidently has a lot of time on her hands and a lot of money if she’s spending MORE time at Darney’s Pub than in the gym, teaching her girls how to shoot free throws. At least get Gil’s lazy ass off the concrete slabs he was sitting on and let him be a proxy coach. He might see an epiphany along the way and the girls out-free throw the opposition, if they don’t learn any plays. Heck, I bet they don’t even know how to DRIBBLE or PLAY DEFENSE, Mimi’s been a slum landlord. But with Gil leading the way to teach them that there is no one guarding you and pummel the opposition without grasping the Give-and-Go? It can happen.

 

We might as leap over Girl’s Basketball, it was a speed bump anyway. Honestly, has ANYONE seen the girls play this season?  I will croak if they have Midnight Madness. How can you have Senior Night? Where would you hold it since it’d be silly to stage the event in a venue that wasn’t used by the girls at all, save for Girls P.E., and I’m not even holding my breath on THAT one. It’s kind of unique to have varsity letter winners in a sport they had zero participation in. We’ll get ’em next year. At least the Cubs showed up when they said the same thing.

And while Gil is getting tendinitis of the gluteus maximus while reaching the 1000th page of “War and Peace”, Mimi is engrossed in Peggy Sue’s culinary habits (“Peggy Sue/I love you/But cover your mouth when you chew/O Peggy, My Peggy Sueeeeeeee…”) at a dive started by Barney Fife from the money he saved from the Mayberry R.P.D. Retirement Fund (C’mon, you know Barney the Dinosaur couldn’t have had a hand in this-serving Gerst to the kids?-“WOW, that stuff’s too strong to be a Yoo Hoo!!!!!!! And you don’t need a chaser for Grape Kool-Aid!!!!!!!!!!!!” “Barney, you look funny with foam on your mouth”, all the kids giggling and snickering from Sideshow Bob’s remark) .

That’s right, Mimi. You’re so preoccupied with losses from graduation next year, not to mention Peggy Sue’s slurping Heinz Ketchup from the Nacho Fries Barney imported from Taco Bell that you hardly noticed that bowl of Cream of Wheat onthe table and the upside-down bottle of Cutty Sark you wash it down with. Yeah, I’ll admit Denny’s ketchup packets are not priority for me when eating nachos but it’s not like you’re at Dairy Queen and Peggy Sue is pouring horse radish on a Peanut Buster Parfait.

“Well, I love you, gal/And your choices make me puke…” , Buddy Holly ready to rip into another riff

 

And I’ll give the benefit of the doubt that that’s a “B” in the window, lopped off cleanly by the panel edge. Also, Freddy Mercury, after he cut his hair, is in the background serving more Cream of Wheat and Dunkin’ Donut &  Bar-B-Q Chicken Surprise to that lady with a clinical case of harelip. Or maybe she stapled her mouth shut so she wouldn’t overdo it on the Quaker Oats Cinnamon and Schlitz.

 

 

 

 

Digging into peach ‘n’ plum quiche

Wash it down with something nouveau-riche

Leave Gil without a leash

To watch the kids

 

Oh yes, it’s Children’s Night

And Gil’s not even in sight

Oh yes, it’s Children’s Night

And that’s a fright

 

Thanks, Kool, again. Love your music. You were always yourself and that will ALWAYS sell.

 

And whattya know, Yakov Smirnoff just came in, ready to indulge in the upcoming Quaker-Oats-and-Vodka Fellowship, sponsored by Milford International Ministries, to warn Mimi:

“In America, you can always find Peggy Sue’s party and Barney Fife’s watering hole. But in Russia, the party finds you and they dump Fife in Siberia down a hole somewhere.”

Thanks to the mysterious Sarcastic Jack for help with the last comedy idea and bringing his oregano to Barney’s Pub

Which reminds me

Because I’ma little perturbed that a group of kids were suspended for having a bag of oregano, a harmless spice, in their possession at school, including one who just had it for 30 seconds, passing it from one student to another, ALL BECAUSE IT LOOKED LIKE marijuana (Common sense, School Board, next thing you know, I’ll get arrested for possession of Coffee-Mate in my Wal-Mart shopping bag under the passenger seat because it looks like cocaine)

Dr. Pearl, still hung over from heartburn from her Meat Loaf ‘n’ Grits and Ale, looks up from her table at Fife’s Fine Pub and Dining and notices Mimi and her girlie girls with a Glad bag of Cream of Wheat, Reduced Fat, Gluten-free, Zero Calorie, Low Microwave AND  a bag of oregano.

]Gulping a quick pair of tums she snatched out of beehive and summoning Friday and Gannon in the next booth, still plunging their sporks into Baked Chicken Alfredo & Pommes Frites, dipped in Marinara Sauce and sprinkled with bits of Lucky Charms, while sating their thirst with Canada Dry Ginger Ale (can’t drink on the job) Mimi and the rest of the Go-Go’s are surrounded.

“Awwwwright, police officers!!!!!!!!!! Get your hands up where we can see them!!!!!!! And take off that Barney Rubble mask, Peggy Sue!!!!!!! You’re at the wrong Barney’s!!!!!!!! I’ll let that slide THIS time!!!!!!!!”

Mimi is perplexed

“What’s the charge?” Writ of Habeas Corpus never was so enthralling.

‘Violation of Milford Penal Code 219, Section 82, Article V, Clause 13, “Possession of imitation controlled substances with intent to sell and traffic to the public, such as an eating establishment!!!!!!!! You ladies get your kicks off of taking  some kid’s lunch money so he can snort some couscous??????”

“Mr. Friday, I’ve always watched your show and the lessons I’ve learned from them, such as how to fend off a prowler with a Mr. Coffee appliance-”

“Mimi, you’re in trouble this time. I knew something was wrong when you ditched the season. I always wondered why you disappeared after a TV time-out. Now I KNOW. You were free-basing parsley.”

“I was going to add this Cream of Wheat Sourdough Blend to this pile of nachos. The Dijon mustard was too spicy and giving me the runs. I thought I’d neutralize the recipe.”

“That’s what they all say. But I’m bettin’ Gannon’s Lions Club lapel on his tweed jacket you’ll be draggin’ on cilantro next. Couldn’t handle the hard stuff??? Peppermint too strong for your nose??? Book ’em, Dan-O.”

“Isn’t that Hawaii Five-O?”

“I’ll write the script around here, Mrs. Jalapeno Pepper addict, thank you. Check their purses for ketchup stains. I understand they were peddling Frisch’s Big Boy Burgers w/ Nutrasweet on the black market. That’s a powder only Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds could love.”

“And Mimi, next time you have your girls going door-to-door selling Earl Grey herbal tea leaves rather than World’s Finest Chocolate to raise money for the team, PLAY THE DAMN SEASON!!!!!!!!!!”

“Watch your language, Ma’am. Fife got religion at a Billy Graham Crusade last month at the Milford Convention  Hall.”

“Sorry, Joe.”

 

Rum and cheese lady

Drunk with rabies

Unsophisticated Mimi

Come on, you without a team

Drink like there’s no referees, yeah

 

Oh yes, it’s Ladies’ Night

And B-Ball’s not in sight

Oh yes, it’s Ladies’ Night

That really bites

 

And based on P2 and the above lyrics, you KNOW I have another Milford Beverage Warehouse commercial up my sleeve. Stay tuned. In the meantime, enjoy, I say, enjoy the funny Mimi uttered while imbibing her (maybe) umpteenth glass of Martini & Rossi.

 

Shout-out goes to Craig Holt of Louisville, Kentucky, who today helped many ladies get their seat belts on while riding the bus. That’s what I like about Craig. He’s always at the ready to help ANYBODY who is in need. There is not a negative nor a phony bone in that man’s body. Factor in that he always comes to work READY TO WORK and does so with a smile shows you how America is the better with people like him. He is always so giving and his smile is contagious. I salute you, Craig. America needs you.

Then there’s P3. Gang, didn’t I just get done with Monsters in Milford? Evidently not, given the flying saucers buzzing around the room. Oh, those are LIGHTS. Or maybe Spielberg went the B movie route and is filming on location “Attack of the Amazon Bumblebees”. But since we’re trapped in a hopeless plot, we might as well take roll call and include Annette to the roll call of Mouseketeers. She was just running late from her non-basketball game. It went into overtime. Surely Ms. Latecomer isn’t referring to Booby. Man, he’s tried many hats but Mouseketeer is one he needs to leave in his locker or back on the shelf he hocked it from at Milford Novelty & Gifts.

 

Today’s Black History Month entry is one you’ve already heard of but I want to include him here because I’m angry that his whole career wasn’t publicized. I’m talking about Scott Joplin, yes, the one who wrote “Maple Leaf Rag”. And he was indeed VERY instrumental in Ragtime music, “The Sting” promulgating his music throughout the movie. BUT Joplin was a think-outside-the-box kind of person, much to the chagrin of his publishers. They said that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, but Joplin was too brilliant to be confined to a single genre of music. He had envisioned for years to write an opera score, and understanding that the readership might not take to opera so keenly (understandable) , STILL, he wrote arguably one of the Top 50 operas of all time, “Treemonisha”. The plot was based upon a girl, Treemonisha, who wanted only things to get better after the Civil War had ended. Initially, it was not popular, as people were tired of war and the opera was written during that period of burn-out but caught hold as the ravages of war faded and people began to give a listen. Joplin succeeded in rising out of a rut that was only getting more hopeless and lived to tell about it. Please join me in saluting Mr. Joplin who teaches us all that those that say they can are absolutely right.

 

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, get a T.O., Auguistus Caesar, the Centurions are runnin’ Lions back in their cages!!!!!!!!!! I’m smellin’ a run, Baby!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“And that is what Coach Augustus is doing. Time out on the floor, with the score, 39 dead Lions and 34 dead Centurions.’

 

“Ladies, lookin’ for a place to go to get away from your hubby? Well, Friday Night at Milford Beverage Warehouse is Ladies’ Night and if you’re a woman, you’ll receive half off on all your favorite liquors. Hi, Mimi Thorp here, taking over for Gil who’s on assignment, tucking the kids in bed.  That’s right, leave your attitude, the kiddies, and your wife-beater at the door because the Warehouse is gonna party in style. This Beer Bacchanalian Feast is gonna have all your liquors all over the Warehouse with a live DJ spinnin’ the records while you dance and drink. Man, it’s nice not having Gil around pestering me about the kids while I get it on to ‘Disco Duck’ while sipping on some Maker’s Mark. And you shoulda seen Mrs. Kaz doin’ the Travolta, including splits while all the spotlights from the Milford Shop Class were gleaming brilliantly on her while she was drunk with the spirit and some Heineken Dark Malt. AND SHE DIDN’T SPILL A DROP!!!!!!!!! Hard to do when ‘YMCA’ is playing. And if slow-dancing to ‘Sail On’ by The Commodores with a Clos du Bois Chardonnay in your hand is your thing, the DJ has that on his set list too. Just don’t slow dance with someone like Dr. Pearl if you don’t want the gossip mill to spread all over Milford. What’s at the Warehouse stays at the Warehouse.

Anyway, come thirsty and happy and wearing a bra, as all bare-chested specimens will be assumed to be a man, this Friday Night and melt your Blues away. After all, Milford Beverage Warehouse is an Equal Opportunity Liquor Distributor. Come this Friday and get drunk on ‘From each according to her ability, to each according to her need.’ Groucho Marx couldn’t have said it any better. See you Friday.”

 

Gang, comment away. I’ll be in the corner, trying their Cream of Wheat Key Lime Nacho Chips. As long as I watch my sodium, I oughta be OK.

 

So if Yakov Smirnoff brings his imitation controlled substance to Fazoli’s, I’m assuming he can still order. I don’t think the KGB cases Italian food joints in Milford. Yet.

“Okay, kiddies, let’s sample this Bugs Bunny cup. Mmmmmm, I think it’s a Bud Lite. Do you boys and girls agree?”

 

This is your night

Tonight

Everything will die

In flight

 

This is your night

Tonight

Wine stains on your teeth

Soooooo white

 

This is your night

Tonight

This plot’ll disappear

Out of sight

 

This is your night

Tonight…

January 29, 2019

There’s No Such Thing As A Bad Boy. Just Bad Plots.

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Let me be SERIOUS for a minute. I agree with Coach Kaz that if something on the radio, TV, podcast, CD player, record player, electronic media devices, offends you or you don’t like what you hear TURN IT OFF. I have long been an advocate of this idea rather than let self-righteous hypocrites tell us what we can or cannot listen to.

Those who say that, for example, that Black Sabbath leads people down the wrong road don’t wash with me. I’ve been a Sabbie forever (“Technical Ecstasy” and “Volume 4” on the cassette player while balancing equations in high school Chemistry-the memories) and I have a medical doctor in my family. Those who LET another human being get in their heads have nobody to blame but THEMSELVES.

You have the power right within the radio dial.

USE IT.

George Burns was right. You may not be able to change the world but you can always change the channel.

 

Okay, soap box aside, was Coach Kaz listening in on the conversation? Was he smoking a couple of Lucky Strikes from that one guy’s locker? Such sleight-of-hand. Just sneak in before the basketball guys are done at the water fountain, hide behind the lost and found box (if you can stand the stench, Coach-me, I would’ve come clean rather than smell 3-day-old jock strap odor permeate through the pile) , wait ’til they all pass through, listen to them plot the Invasion of Poland, then pounce on ’em and tell ’em they better take Sweden instead. Not as many people and more blonds. The Swedish Bikini Team might be touring the country. Worth conquering, in other words. Just a suggestion. Just don’t send Enola Gay to pinpoint a billboard. Off limits. What would the UN think?

 

And I just FREEZE when I hear the word “loophole”. I can’t even imagine the scenario but here goes.

Our anti-heroes wind up skinny-dipping in some farmer’s pond with the cows on the other end eating the chili dogs and Jack they received when Ol’ McDonald returned that slab of tenderloin he hocked at the Milford 4-H Hoedown to MBW,  giving Roberto the swirlie of his life. Coach Kaz is out digging for worms for bait when he goes trout-fishing at Mudlark Lake and catches our anti-heroes (C’mon, did you ever see Captain America give Spiderman a swirlie?) in the act.

“I thought I told you to leave Roberto alone. So what’s the deal?”

“He accepted our invitation to go for a midnight swim. He challenged us to a fight after we said his mother advertises World’s Finest Chocolate off her pickle wagon. What could we do? We couldn’t run out on the road with the County sheriff patrolling the beat. We had no choice but to stand our ground.”

Like Coach Stuard used to teach me, good teams find a way around the  rules, if necessary. No better example than this.

 

Thanks to Matt Maloney, of Louisville, Kentucky, with help with the above comedy idea. Keep up the good work at your job, Matt. You work HARD and DEFINITELY represent America.

 

And don’t even go there in P3. Okay, the team is going to try to circumvent Kaz’s Mandate because, well, they’re kids. So you can’t give Roberto a swirlie on School Grounds. Fair enough. you still got the Milford Mall bathroom, McDonald’s, Milford Kwik-EE Mart and all you need is the key for the last one. Simple. Keep Roberto in the trunk, someone go get the key and tell them they had one Bucket Chili Dog too many, procure the Gateway to Relief, get Asshole Roberto out of the trunk, get him to bathroom before anyone  can write  more nasty stuff on the walls (“Roberto sits all broken-hearted/Tried to poop but only farted”) , stick in his head in designated Hell hole. Fun is sure to follow.

And if Kaz comes in unexpectedly for the munchies and has to have 3 bags of Doritos $4  Organic Nacho Supreme, what can he do? Okay, call the police but they weren’t on School Grounds!!!!!!! Not that I’m encouraging this but where the hell are they going in P3???????? This is The Sopranos getting out the car. Did they make sure Roberto had concrete shoes on while dumping him in Mudlark Lake???????? He just insulted the coach, not attacked The Don’s order. Well, finish the job, Sopranos, er, Mudlarks, and let’s get back to basketball. And keep your silencers in your lockers.

 

This is the city. Milford, USA. An average-sized town with plenty of activity, some not always on the level. That’s when I go to work. My name’s Friday. I carry a badge.

It was drizzling in Milford. The weatherman call for The Rapture later. My partner, Bill Gannon, and I were assigned to the Domestic Fraud and Dismemberment Department, Adult Division. The boss is Captain Mr. Clean.

There had been unconfirmed reports of abnormal, illicit, and illegal toilet operations. SWAT team members had been investigating  restaurants and bars off of anonymous tips we received from our alert citizens. They traced the illegal trade to the Milford Lounge and The Bucket.

“So whattya think?”

“Nuthin’ yet. Still got all night.”

“What thrill do kids get from sticking a classmate’s head down the john?”

“Beats me. We did the same thing to the Japanese when I was in the Service. Spilled their guts right down to the vanilla sushi. Got one to say Emperor Hirohito was the AntiChrist rather than douse his head in a neglected barracks latrine. A PFC got a month’s KP cuz he forgot Latrine Duty. Geez, the stink. Smelled like Coach Shaw after he bombed Pearl Harbor in Gil’s WC. No wonder why the man cracked.

Gannon looks through his lorgniette.

“Joe, I think we got trouble.”

“And plenty of. Let’s go.”

We spotted some teenagers pulling into the drive-in of The Bucket. We thought nothing of it until we saw them get out of the car. Normally, they grab the speaker and order the usual teenage fare, cheeseburgers, chocolate shakes and what-not. When they didn’t tip the car hop, I suspected trouble. We STILL had to catch them in the act. Headquarters wasn’t going to accept arresting a punk because he tipped Carly the Car Hop a $2 bill nor because he spit too much into his A & W Root Beer Bucket Float. We had to wait untoil at least Carly took a smoke break behind the dumpster. There’d be no swirlies there.

“Hey, there’s nerdnik Roberto over there!!!!!” “Where?”

“Over there, stupid.  Eatin’ in that corner booth with those women he  called on the Milford Singles Line. Dang, he runs the gamut. One’s a divorcee, once married to Dr. Pearl’s nephew, one’s an old maid,  Granny Clampett’s sister, I hear, one’s 350 pounds after she got blackballed from a Weight Watcher’s meeting-”

“Cut the trivia, dude!!!!!! Everybody ready?? At the count of 3, let’s whoop some butt and give his head a home-made Bucket Chocolate/Vanilla Twirl.”

They grabbed the initiative before we could make our move. Fortunately, the SWAT team was waiting in the girls’ bathroom while Gannon called for back-ups. You never knew with these punks. They were liable to throw Bucket Orange & Lime Yogurt at you and get it all over your jacket with the Lions Club lapel on it. You couldn’t be too careful.

The SWAT team reacted swiftly and none too soon, throwing tear gas in Stall #3. Those punks never stood a chance. They came out with their hands out while Roberto grabbed a paper towel because the Air Blower was out of order. The smoke would be there for days.

“Police officers!!!!!!!!! You’re under arrest!!!!!!

“Don’t shoot!!!!!!!! Don’t shoot!!!!!!!!!

Man, I get a boner to this day rounding up teenage ne’er-do-wells.

“Awwwwrright, Gannon, read ’em their rights.”

Gannon obliged, then asked one final question.

“Was it really worth it???? All you had to do was listen to another radio station. I heard Anderson Cooper is really down on Gil for lack of action or interest.”

“Yeah. We just couldn’t take any more. If we could snuff this mug, we could listen to Fibber McGee once again. His closet stinks but at least he makes sense. And he never criticizes the coach.

“Yeah???? Well, you’re going to share a cell with Daddy Bader while Roberto will still be on the air. And you still ain’t playing basketball.”

Eerie music cuts in, as it always does when Friday scores a touche.

DUM DA DUM DUM

 

DUM DA DUM DUM DUMMMMMMMMMMM

“On January 3rd, trial was held in the Milford Superior Court. In a moment, the results of that trial.”

 

Okay, Gene Rayburn is back, at the ready with another Match Game 2019 question. Take ‘er away, Gene.

“Dumb Dora was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought her ________________ would be great for R/Bobby to advertise on billboards.”

 

“On January 3rd, the Milford Superior Court found the Milford Mudlark Basketball team guilty of one count of recklless gang activity according to the Milford Penal Code Article 35, Section 21, punishable by probation to 5 years in the Milford Penitentiary, and 23 counts of plot inertia, according to Milford Penal Code Article 475, Section 95, Clause 103, punishable by Life Confinement to the Milford Gym or 5-10 years in the same, dependent on the degree of the swirlie.”

“The team now serving lay-up drills for 7 years until a parole hearing is scheduled in 2023.”

 

DING DONGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!! HI HONEY, I’M HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Gil, you don’t have to ring the doorbell. This is your house!!!!!!!!”

“Oops, sorry. I was so carried away with that deal at Milford Beverage Warehouse that I forgot I wasn’t at Kaz’s house for Scrabble and Bud.”

“So you remembered to return the Amish macaroni salad you concealed in your ’93 football playbook?Did Dr. Pearl ever suspect that you took it from the faculty loung3e after the Milford Teachers’ Beer Bonanza Celebration?”

“Hell, no, they had to cart Pearl off to the Milford Emergency Clinic after she downed a fifth of Jack with no chaser. Tod Andrews was the Designated Driver. AND she still thinks Luhm crammed it under his dustpan before he was scheduled to turn on all the Raid Defogger cans to get rid of the fleas. Caramel quiche has a way of attracting fleas, I guess.”

“Did the Beverage guy ever tell you where the food was going?”

“He said they’ll be taking it to the Milford Food Pantry. Somebody desperate enough and tired of devouring old Michelin tires like Wile E. Coyote will chow down on Road Runner souffle and not-yet-moldy potato salad. He also said the Pantry sprays Lysol on everything before E. Coli can spread. There’ll be no Plague in Milford, believe me. Wile E. can confidently chew Road Runner meat knowing the USDA enforces no lice on a dead Road Runner or Bucket Burgers that have been under the heat lamp too long. But I got my 24-Pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, I’m happy.”

“And what about the Dolly Madison Zingers?”

“They didn’t lose color. And the icing’s still fresh. We FedEx’d those and the Oreos to a mission somewhere off the coast of El Salvador. I negotiated for 2 Patron Reposado Teqauilas but the Warehouse wanted more Twinkies thrown in the transaction to earn another bottle. Damn, if only Coach Shaw wasn’t off another Hostess binge after he shot that raccoon.”

“Darling, I’m glad there’s somewhere to go to dump your unwanted condiments, the ones that wound up in Nativity No-Man’s Land. Sorta like those misfit toys that Santa found a home for. It’s nice that Dr. Pearl’s month-old carrot cake found a home. I heard Bumbles is still snarfing it after Herbie the Dentist got him a new pair of dentures (“Herbie doesn’t like to make carrot cake”, Herbie doesn’t…etc.) . The cake was disintegrating in your glove compartment.”

“Shoot, they gave me a Coors Light Keg o’ Tall Boys for that and even offered to give back the carrot cake if I’d let them have it krausened.”

 

“Boy, we could go on with this Boswell on the Milford Beverage Warehouse all night but it would probably wind up in the ER with Dr. Pearl, so don’t take our word for it. Bring back that box of KFC Buffalo Fries you’ve got stashed in the attic behind Grandma’s organ and get a fresh start. And a fresh Michelob. Sounds like a winner to me.”

 

Gang, I apologize. I have been FRANTICALLY trying to get this posted after my original got erased again. Still in the Dark Ages on technical wizardry. Thank you eternally for your patience. You mean A LOT to me.

 

“Wait a minute, Gil. There’s no ‘k’ in ‘sabbatical’.”

“Whatever. It’s a hard sound. Close enough. You already owe me 3 Buds. Don’t run up a bill.”

January 22, 2019

We’re Telling You, Gil Thorp, We’re All Going Insane

Filed under: ?, Gil Thorp, Just plain sad, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 2:51 pm

012219

Early evening

April 4

Shot rings out in the Memphis skyyyyyyyy

Free at last

They took your life

They could not take

Your pride

 

Remember Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior on his birthday.

 

He rose above the hate to set us free.

 

 

 

Oooooooooookkkkkkkkkk, as long as we’re not going to play basketball for the time being (or maybe at all) , and the issues are getting a little weightier, I might as well address the issue before Gil goes Dr. Joyce Brothers on us.

If you or someone you know has suicidal thoughts, please get help IMMEDIATELY. Don’t let things fester or spin out of control. It is a brave thing to do to admit you need to get your life under control. ANYBODY saying he or she is going to end it all, even if he or she says it as a joke needs to be taken SERIOUSLY. Again, please get help and encourage others you know to get help if life just doesn’t seem to be working out.

This is a comedy site and I have every intention to keep it that way. For the moment, however, I felt it wise to talk about something that is ALWAYS a sensitive issue. Give yourself a chance, folks. These are your important years, you better make them last.

 

Gang, just when the interview, no matter how absurd it was, started getting warmed up like that El Nopal Valentine’s Day Chocolate Manwich Burrito you stick in the microwave after working overtime on 3rd shift, Thorpiverse took matters in its own hands and scheduled an unauthorized Public Service Announcement. Really, that’s what the damn strip is today, watered-down a bit by Filion’s smart-ass comment. Not that his point isn’t well-received.

“Coach, I’m going to end it all!!!!!!!!!!! I can’t take another 71-point shellacking. Any way we can use the gym to PRACTICE?????? I think Billy Bob’s had sufficient time in the gym to design his billboards. Isn’t there a church gym nearby where he can continue to ply his trade?”

 

All right, you whippersnappers, as I told Timbuys, the Sabbie in me is just bustin’ to get free, so you’re in for a treat, sung to Black Sabbath’s “Am I Going Insane(Radio)

 

Every coach is looking at me

Feeling quizzical inside

When I leave the gym, I’ll feel free

Think I’ll slip to The Bucket and hide

 

So tell me, Gilbert

Am I going insane (…aneeeeeeee)

Tell me, Coach Kaz

Am I going insaneeeeeee(…aneeeeeeee)

 

Really, I’m sure you’ve noticed, unless you’re Grog from the comic strip, “B.C.”, that we have leapfrogged from “Death to Gil-Viva la revolucion!!!!!!!!!!!” and its ensuing “Fidel!!!!!!!Fidel!!!!!!!!!!!!, a los Mudlarks dalos dure!!!!!!!!!! (“Hit the Mudlarks hard!!!!!!!!!!!”, if you’re too damn lazy to get your Fodor’s Spanish in Milford in 10 Days) to “The lunatic is in my head.” That’s right, Coach Thorp, you rearrange me ’til I’m sane. Should I practice 100 free throws/day instead of 50 free throws/day? Would that keep me from getting psyched out when the crowd is waving their arms? When they display a sign saying “You play for “Child Molester Thorp?”

We SHOULD be playing basketball but noooooooooooo, Gil’s gotta call everybody in the locker room, perhaps from their classes to make sure “Fairies Wear Boots” isn’t ringing in their heads or going to cause them to jump the dock at Mudlark Lake. Coach, I’ve been listening to Black Sabbath forever and I doubt that “Children of the Grave” is going to cause anybody to neglect to box out. You’re covering the bases on a football field. So Filion is having problems, no doubt, WHAT TEENAGER DOESN’T????” You’re transforming him from a carefree teenager to Franz Kafka in the name of plot interest. Kafka, miserable as he was, is happier than this sad state of Gilcare.  And I’d understand your concern a lot better if we’d get on with what this comic strip was intended to promote and that’s SPORTS. Ya know, S-P-O-R-T-S. Heck, play that instead of H-O-R-S-E but play the damn game. Yes, I understand your concern and taking Filion seriously is the right thing to do but you’re going beyond passing out Crisis Line leaflets and playing the doctor per se. Only thing missing now is the stethoscope. Oh, and a couch.

Okay, Herman Munster in P1 might need to get his head screwed on a little tighter but give him a hearty referral and let’s head back to the gym. We’re spending more time in the doctor’s office and the magazines like Better Homes & Gardens Bikini issue and The Saturday Evening Post (“Where do you think this plot is going-If you think the answers will be easy(but you won’t)…”) are collecting dust.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Winds Up At Milford General After Slitting His Throat!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Lost at Scrabble because he’d used up all his Q’s when spelling ‘loquacious.”

 

 

Shooting’s making me go schizo

My B-Ball game is heading south

Insanity won’t let me rebound

My mental health has just fouled out

 

So tell me Coach Shaw

Am I going insaneeeee(…anneeeeee)

Tell me Coach Boone

Am I going insaneeeee(…annneeeeee)

 

I mean, Coach Thorp, WAKE UP, we’re still in THE LOCKER ROOM!!!!!!! Don’t tell me you’re having an overnight slumber party there. I wouldn’t call it a lock-in if you catch my drift. Some player might interpret that nom de plume, not to mention your goodwill distribution of the Milford Crisis Line leaflets to mean that a couple of orderlies from the Milford State Hospital are waiting in the shower, assuming there was no game (more than likely NO) so nobody’s using Prell or strychnine on their scalp, to haul off a Mudlark or two in straitjackets in the paddy wagon. Nope, ixnay on lock-in and thumbs up on slumber party which it it pretty much is anyway, in more ways than one, at the rate we’re going.

Gil, I’m sure people should call 1-800-GIL-HELP should this plot get heavier than your hair when you aim the garden hose on it, but it really isn’t necessary to schedule an appointment with Dr. Freud who will analyze you for months, using Dream Therapy as one of the tools (“So this is what a basketball looks like-I always thought it resembled Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”) .

 

And to tie loose ends from my post the other day, I’ve been thinking (uh oh) . Marty, this isn’t 3rd shift at a distribution center, you’re not asking Bobbyhead if he can work overtime.

CAN YOU COME BACK TOMORROW???????

And what are we going to talk about THEN, assuming the psychoanalysis doesn’t today doesn’t overlap into tomorrow (Primal Scream Therapy should be done by then. Lennon said the album was a take.) ?????? Gil’s dental chart??????

Boobyhead in rare form on WDIG

“I told Gil after he’d bitten that Dutch Chocolate torte the wrong way, while I was cleaning the basketball jerseys, that he’d have to get his wisdom tooth extracted. Gil told me to F— off, spitting parts of his tooth on the towels I was getting out of the dryer. He told me to use my own Crest with Cavity-Fighting Peroxide. And use an Oral B toothbrush next time. It’s the toothbrush most coaches recommend.”

Sheesh, I could understand Marty prolonging the agony if the enfant terrible was a father unhappy with his son’s playing time or a booster who’s also a businessman who runs a nursery and threatens to shut down the Milford Annual Flower Show at the Milford Expo Center until they can Gil because 60 years on the job and not winning a State Championship at least 58 of those years (allowing for losing players to graduation or injuries) is inexcusable, given the talent and resources at hand. But an ex-equipment manager leading the charge on Gil’s firing is hardly Joan of Arc material. Let the man pay his dues in sports form a SPORTS angle (his own kid playing or a pet project who needs guidance (even better, Boobyhead will be that much taller down the road, trust me from personal experience)) , and THEN come back to Marty Shark. Then again, if Boobyhead grows up, he’ll avoid WDIG altogether.

Otherwise, I heard Otis the Drunk was starting a petition from his own jail cell. So far, a guy in for shoplifting Slim Jims at Milford 7-11 and a foreinger who chopped up an INS employee with a pick-axe have been his only signees.

 

Day 13

“Marty, I’m really not comfortable with this arrangement. Don’t get me wrong, Gil’s gotta go but talking to a naked man at 2:00AM in the morning  with a cougar howling 15 feet in back of us is not my idea of a great interview.”

“Relax. It’s only natural. Pretend like you’re talking to your dad after he wiped himself with a towel after he got out of the shower. You’ve seen him bend over when he uses Sani-Flush on the john, haven’t you? 8 years old. See? No problem. And Anonymous Calculus Dude is ready to pull the trigger any time. He goes on safaris semi-annually.”

“Where’s Peaches? Wasn’t she here just a minute ago?”

“She went the wrong way when she went to take a piss and got swallowed in quicksand. I’ll get the producer to pull her out after the 2nd Mudlar-K-Cola Misty Dew break.”

 

Oh, goodness, then there’s P3. When the 3rd panel is replete with teenage smartasses snickering at Filion’s comment even after Gil has been gracious enough to implement an estoppal on basketball to promote the Gil Line and keep the teenage male population from heading to the cliffs with the rest of the lemmings, becoming the crux of this farce and not the jump-off point to P1 the next day, I’m tempted to call the Gil Line myself and be his first customer. Boys will be boys but his time, they have every reasojn to be boys. To paraphrase Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar, Gil, stick to coaching from now on.

 

Anonymous Calculus Dude on the Gil Line

“Gil, you need to get a life.”

“I understand your hurt. How long has this mental anguish been giving you ulcers?”

 

If ya talk ta the head man at the Milford Bait Shop about yore bad marriage cuz ya cain’t afford a marriage counselor, ya might be a redneck.

 

Ooooooooooooookkkkkkkkkkk, since we really can’t get any basketball out of Gil for a while, my philosophy on life comes from Harry Truman who once said “If I make a bum decision, I just go out and make another one.” All righty then, Gil is pretending he’s Sigmund Freud, he has an elongated, cigar-shaped couch in his office, Filion is lying on it, Gil with his notepad

“Okay, Mike, in order to probe why you can’t play defense, we’re going to play Word Association. Just relax and when I give you a word or name, tell me the first thing that comes to your mind. Ready?”

“Anytime, Coach Freud.”

“Very well. Here we go.”

Pause

“Plot”

“Sucks”

“Coach Kaz”

Conan with girlie studs”

“”Basketball”

“Non-existent”

“Marty Moon”

“Anaconda with a goatee.”

“Rebound”

“What this plot won’t do”

“Assist”

“What you do with Mimi stirring Country Tyme”

“Peaches”

“Alice the maid who has sex.”

“WDIG”

“Paul Harvey meets Ida Tarbell”

“Backboard”

“In your driveway”

“Referee”

“Someone you bribe after every Goshen game.”

“Basket”

“Weaving”

“Ernie”

“A parrot is the guest star on ‘My Three Sons'”

“Dribble”

“Milford Men’s Clinic”

“Double dribble”

“Getting a refund at the same place”

 

“Well, Filion, I need to analyze your results which could take weeks. In the meantime, as part of Primal Scream Therapy, let ‘er rip one more time.”

MIMI SHOULD USE STORE BRAND ICING IN HER COCONUT BUNDT CAKE!!!!!!!!!!!

“There, all better? Now scram. I’ve got a crisis with Marty at 1:30.”

 

Gang, comment away. I have an appointment with Coach Freud in anb hour. Don’t want to get charged as a no-show.

 

“Peaches got gang-raped?????? In Milford Nature Area???????”

“Apparently, there’s more than one Bigfoot on the loose. No wonder why there were conflicting reports.”

 

Listen to me, all you readers

Pray the ball will bounce back soon

If I don’t sound very cheerful

It’s cuz I spilled my guts to Marty Moon

 

So tell me Gilbert

Am I going insannnneeeeeeeee(…annnneeeeeee)

 

Fading into a sudden eruption of laughter, Dr. Pearl and her staff trace it to Ms. Rizk’s room. The door is locked.

AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH

AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH

 

“Ms. Rizk, are you OK?”

“I’m good. Daffy just spilled ink all over the newspaper we were about to run. But I have a copy in my duffel bag in my car.”

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