This Week in Milford

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…

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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

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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.”

December 15, 2018

Burly Mediocre Perfection

Filed under: ?, Fontastic, freak hands, Milford Idiots, Milford Weirdos, premature baldness — timbuys @ 10:22 am

12/14/18

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While we wait for teenchy to post, please allow me to fill in for Rob’s Friday post.

I would say, based on the alignment of the text to the billboard, that, yes, mediocre is more than good enough. We’ve speculated a bit about how much this is running him. Whatever it costs, this guy is clearly getting his money’s worth. I’m a pretty happy guy and I’ve pulled off a thing or two over the years, but I can’t remember the last time I was so ecstatic that I lifted my arms up to bask in elation at what I had wrought.

Bonus Points:

So, I guess we’re setting up for some sort of Rick (Ricardo?) Soto binge eating PSA. Maybe we could get a very special Gil Thorp on the perils of trying to ingest a whole bottle of cinnamon.

Ricky Soto’s ring finger scares me and if I were Marcell I would be legit freaked out to have that meathook draped over my shoulder.

I’m loving the detail given to the collar of our simply mysterious billboard renter.

December 13, 2018

Hey, I Say, Hey, There’s No 360 Windmill Jams When I’m Makin’ A Funny

Filed under: ?, basketball, freak hands, Milford Weirdos, What the hell is going on here? — tdrewhardin @ 3:29 pm

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…and 99 other pithy maxims I said when I was on the basketball team that I will tell my grandkids and collect to publish a book. Surely there’s a market for “Inane Commentary to Stall the Plot That I Think Is Funny and Will Be Referenced By The After-Dinner Speaker at the Monthly Milford Kiwanis Club Meeting”. Just stick it next to the Wall Street Journal at Borders and VOILA, instant New York Times Bestseller.

“Get off your butt, Marcell, you wussy. And did you hear the one about the traveling salesman and the point guard on their way to the game?” Six figure sales on that daddy of a witticism.

 

 

Shout-out to Stanley Clark of Louisville, Kentucky. He fights for his life EVERY DAY and winds up winning in resounding fashion. He goes to his rehab clinic with his best face forward and has chosen to Do The Right Thing as a result. He is hoping to walk one day and if he keeps working his butt off at the clinic and gets out and about in general, I have no doubt in my mind that that dream will be a reality. Rootin’ for ya, Big Guy. You got my blessing and my respect to press on. I believe you will.

 

Gang, I don’t know aboutchoo but the basketball plot is already a flat tire. Hoo boy, does this mangled Michelin need a visit to the Milford Men’s Clinic to pump things up, errrrrrr, never mind.

So far, all we have seen are Mudlarks in their gym clothes practically playing Cooties with each other, one Mudlark in his night gown because he forgot his gym bag, and basketballs. THE COACHES HAVEN’T EVEN SHOWN UP!!!!!!!!!!!! WHERE ARE THEY?????????? I follow a lot of college basketball and I have a ton of respect for University of Kentucky Men’s Basketball and their fans and one of the reasons is Midnight Madness is a HUGE deal and you’ll see guys practicing basketball at GOALS and the scoreboard is THERE and RUNNING and there will be REFEREES there to call the game, the players and the referees will not be acting like the kids on Romper Room like we’ve seen in the Mudlark Fellowship Hall, scratch that, Gym. And you can damn well be sure the coaches will not be negotiating the rapids at Mudlark Falls with Marty and Peaches in the Milford Nature Area. There’s a word for that. COACHING.

Gil, truncate this tomfoolery we’ve witnessed the last few days in the playground you call a gymnasium or hand in your whistle.

The consolation prize is that TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAA, WE NOW HAVE COURT DIMENSIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I said we have lines on the basketball court, I didn’t say they were legal, accurate, or even fit to line up and chalk down like the Milford Playground Courts. In fact, the Mudlarks may as well play there because I am totally confused on the dimensions in P3. I thought at first the arcs formed part of the jump circle but unless we are expecting King Kong and Godzilla at tip-off, really no way we should justify that appellation and maintain a straight face. Look, I wouldn’t want to be the one throwing the ball in the air. I’d be crushed by Godzilla when he’s tapping it to a teammate for an easy 2.

Soooooooooooooo, is that part of the 3-point arc? Maybe. Big maybe. Trouble is they are circling around and for all intents and purposes intersecting each other. Also, the arcs are facing AWAY from their respective buckets so unless you’re Curly Neal and you plan on keeping sharp with the Globetrotters with your 47-foot heaves, it’s best to shelve THAT notion and pretend the soccer team uses the court when the basketball team isn’t playing or practicing.

Actually, the b-ball team is just doing a bad imitation of Joey Bishop so expect DC United and the Mudlark soccer team any minute for their annual exhibition match.

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Lionel Messi has put Italy up, 1-0, over Uruguay as the match has reached the 63 minute-”

“Filion!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Give me 50 on the ground. If you don’t want to do the rebound drill, hit the showers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And for the life of me, I am trying to figure out the line which I will assume for the moment ( I said for the moment) surrounding the, for lack of a better word, jump circle. If that line is running east-west (using your compass included in the Go Comics travel kit) , where is that other Line going beyond the, crossing my fingers, out-of-bounds line???????? Is that Yellow Brick Road leading to Oz? I guess we’ll know after Filion is done with his poor excuse for stand-up when Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion appear on the court. Really no way the Tin Man could be taking a shower after playing one of those “O-WEE-O” monkeys on the racquetball courts. Must be wiping his butt with his oil can in one of the stalls.

And I PRAY that same line is not north-south unless that line is the half-court line. Otherwise, the gym displays a very short stage for Filion’s “Bert and Ernie” material. We’ll probably never know because nobody’s playing ANY basketball, including Mike “Take my wife, please” Filion.

And WHERE IS Coach Thorp? In his office listening to The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah”? If I see an armadillo running across one of those Etch-a-Sketch lines, I’ll have my answer.

 

Unclear as to why we need models on the back of a Healthy Choice Smoked Turkey Breast, replete with mashed potatoes and refried okra other than for image and image sells (which I understand) , but willing to run with it

“Try our Milford Slaughter House’s Finest Whole Hog Sausage, now in Hot and also Mild. Whether you’re ordering a sausage biscuit off the dollar menu in The Bucket drive-thru or you’re planning a Baptist Men’s Breakfast at Milford Baptist Church, Milford Slaughter House’s Finest is your sausage of choice.”

Cut to Marty moon on the back of a package posing in his Armani Double-Knit suit and Gucci Shoes (The Sopranos couldn’t be prouder, observing their sartorial personality on display in a pig sty) with a 5-ton Yorkshire. Only John Lennon did it better with his porker on his album. Image is everything, Folks.

“Marty, where the Hell you been? You got mud all over you!!!!!!!!!”

“Just doing a little modeling and earning some extra cash.”

“Well, thank God you’re in the studio reading the Milford Community Calendar. They won’t see you.”

 

Big shout-out to Mike Flanders of Middletown, Kentucky. Though essentially confined to a wheelchair, you would never know it by his hilarious sense of humor. The dude had  me rollin’ the entire time I was with him (“That’s not my cane, that’s my Abel” GOOD ONE, Big Guy) . And he is very close to his cats, Wilson and Nemo. The latter was called that after the cat ran away for a while, Mike getting Wilson in the interim, BUT Nemo returning, earning the name. Mike, you got it, My Man. I admire his courage and humor which gives us all hope that you just never give up as he can attest and confirm. Got my respect, Mike.

 

I normally try to work across the panels (i.e., start with P1) , but P3 was just full of leaving-themselves-wide-open chutzpah that I had to crucify that first.

But make no mistake, P1 and P2 are hanging high and dry as well. Why do we have to include a member of SPECTRE who is threatening to take over Milford??????? Is 007 in New Thayer chasing down those hoods? And I guess if you take over Milford with shrewd advertising and H-bombs (Y’know, the ones stored in a closet somewhere in Dr. No’s or Goldfinger’s cave) , you’ll take over the world. What strategy. Really, Hitler should have taken a detour to Mudlarkland before he reached Sudetenland. Would have saved him a lot of trouble plus the world would have been served on a platter for him. Napoleon? Why go through that enormous expanse called Russia when Milford was on the way? He might have avoided Waterloo.

So as this part of the plot unfolds (ready to hold my nose) , it should be interesting if Dr. No’s second cousin twice-removed is able to conquer the globe, separating the wheat from the chaff, champs from the chumps in the bargain. Gil, you are nothing but a stupid high school basketball coach whose luck has run out.

Oh brother, Dr. No, we’ve been onto that for 60 years. Tell us something we don’t know.

 

Day 9

Peaches narrowly avoids a zebra in estrus while she is foraging for mulberries which are reputedly in abundance on the Chisholm Trail which ran straight through the area before they made this Milford Nature Area. There are traces of cattle drives but Peaches is in no mood to chew on a longhorn skull in her birthday suit no matter how desperate she is for food. She can wait until the next mulberry bush. Spotting a baby giraffe, she may have hit paydirt. Since Giraffes are by nature herbivores, you won’t catch too many in the parking lot at Outback Steak House. She waits until the mini-speciman has had its fill, then retrieves her KFC Fill-Up  Bucket and piles it in the container. It’s a shame that Milford Bakery Outlet is nowhere near or she could chow down on mulberry shortcake and whipped cream. Well, this is the outdoors, you understand.

Marty, meanwhile, is a little delirious, not surprising if you have confronted Mother Nature face-to-face for several days. He staggers along the woods, desperate for any hope.

And it’s 50 feet in front of him. An old house, perhaps owned by the man overtaken by Frogs(Is the record player still playing? I swear, that bullfrog CRUSHED that Petula Clark record he was spinning), Marty joyously walks up the stairs into the house.

He finds the living room. It’s dark but there’s a La-Z-Boy recliner with his name on it. He plops down, careful not to get his butt stains all over the serge fabric. Man, that stuff don’t come off in the wild. He lays down one of his Hanes towels. That 100% cotton’ll steer those butt marks clear over into the next Nature episode. He lies down and takes a much-needed cat-nap. After realizing that his dream of Gil at Golgotha was over, he gets up and heads to the kitchen. He manages to locate the refrigerator, surprisingly still functioning. Unless squirrels are storing acorns in the Fresh box or raccoons are using the tap water, Marty finds no condiments of any kind, freezer included. Then he notices a Post-it note on the fridge door as he shuts it.

“I killed Coach Shaw.”

Marty, a bit unnerved, heads to the other parts of the house. He notices a sculpture of a Mudlark in one of the bedrooms and is intrigued by the objet d’art. He notices a tag on it. Unable to read it, Marty gets out his flashlight and shines a light on the writing.

“This Milford Mudlark was created by the Blair Witch Project.”

In a moment, we’ll see if Marty goes the chickenshit route and runs out the service entrance of the Milford Nature Area or if he opts to stick around and watch the satanic cult sacrifice an oranguatang in the den while ESPN Sportscenter is on, both for the glory of Lucifer.

 

“Hi, this is Coach Gil Thorp. Boy, what a pickle Marty got into. I dunno, I was desperate but I wouldn’t want any members of the Blair Witches kicking for me, not even Sabrina’s witches, so I’d be running more than the 50-yard dash outta that place. But what’s scarier is when your sex life is on the rocks and you can’t get Samantha Stephens to wiggle her lips to get you erect. Why call Darrin Stephens and enlist the aid of his wife when Nirvana is simply a visit to the Milford Mall away? That’s right, there are no magic wands, no magic potion like the stepmother gave Cinderella, no antidote for the vapor lock on your significant other that Dr. Bombay could hope to prescribe. The Prince will not be at The Clinic to arouse Cinderella or anything else in the office.

What you WILL get is expert advice and top-notch medications designed to enhance your manliness including a 12-unit supply of pleasure shots, free and easy to use, just put that needle right on your pecker and it’s as if you are receiving oral, well, you men know what I’m taking about.  And if you were a kid, you enjoyed the Balloon Man filling up those balloons at the carnival. Think of yourself as the Balloon Man, filling up your own balloons. Trust me, I am not waiting for my wife to kiss my significant other and wake it up after being dead a thousand years. She can be Prince Charming in bed, not at The Clinic.

Come to the Milford Men’s Clinic today and start your own fairy tale. Just because Endora changed your significant other into a celery stalk doesn’t mean The Milford Men’s Clinic doesn’t have magic of its own to enhance your sex life. Experience the pleasure today. And send the Wicked Witch of the West back to the slums of Oz.”

 

All right gang, it’s your turn. You got the floor and anything you say can and will be held against you in a Court of Law-

SHAREEF, HE DON’T LIKE IT

BOOM BAH DEE BOOM BOOM

ROCK THE CASBAH

ROCK THE CASBAH

“Kaz, dammit, did you open the cage again?????????”

“Well, you wanted me to feed him Ken’l Ration Healthy Choices for a Fine Coat. Did you want me to dump the can on top of the cage?????????”

 

“My name’s Bond. James Bond.”

“Look, shitface, we don’t care if your name is SpongeBob SquarePants, you’re a prick and we’re gonna kick your ass and egg your Aston Martin DB5. C’mon, dudes, let’s waste this asshole.”

BLAM!!!!!!!! BLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!! BLAMBLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BLAMMO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As the Duane Eddy guitar is playing, we hear a voice all over New Thayer

BOND IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

November 29, 2018

Siskel And Ebert Gave This A Thumbs-Down

Filed under: ?, Coach Kaz, Gil Thorp, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 5:37 pm

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And we know something else. Tiki has been using a liberal supply of Oxy-5 and a ton of sandpaper for his Mt. Rushmore face if P2 is any indication. And speaking of smiling for the camera as Robmize mentioned in his post the other day, gadzooks, Tiki is flashin’ them pearly whites for all the world to see. I suppose when you and Encyclopedia
Brown have solved The Case of the Malodorous Thugs, you deserve to show the world you used Colgate and Turtle Wax. His teeth are glossier than a Classic ‘vette at the Milford Car Show held in the Wendy’s parking lot behind Milford Beverage Warehouse.

 

“If Bugs Meany and that ignorant Joe Schmuck with the black cap had been telling the truth, this plot would have ended weeks ago. Plus Schmuck claimed he had Gil’s hair which gave him an excuse to kick the shit out of Tiki as there really wasn’t any other reason valid enough to keep the readers stimulated. Schmuck was obviously grasping at straws and when Encyclopedia noticed that Schmuck indicated reputed grasping by grabbing his crotch in desperation(plus he really had to take a whiz somewhere and had to really go bad, preferably by the time the answer section in the back of Encyclopedia Brown reader had made its point) and also that if Schmuck had Gil’s hair, his cap would have expanded like Jiffy-Pop and popcorn would have been scattering all over the ground. Trapped in their own lies, Bugs confessed that the plot wasn’t worth the bucket of spit someone hockers into an ash tray in the smoking section at The Bucket and that he brought Joe Schmuck along hoping to bring some excitement to this dead horse. Bugs realized that The Joker and his gang or some sorry-ass version of The Crips and The Bloods really wasn’t going to spike readership interest, evidently what Bugs was driving at since he really couldn’t whup Sally Kimball and repeated attempts at the effort, including dumping a cement loader of Morton Salt in her swimming pool, pouring distilled water into the Chemlawn formula to make the lawn a bad excuse for primary colors, setting a time bomb in her dad’s riding mower, nuking her basement and ruining the family photo albums had all failed so Bugs got desperate. Joe Schmuck disapperaed and will never be seen again, Gil’s hair was returned to Ripley’s Believe It or Not! Museum, and the gang of unknowns went over to Gasoline Alley as extras, background people when Walt and Skeezix are at Corky’s Diner discussing how bad this plot got with no relief in sight.”

 

 

A shout-out to Craig Holt of Louisville, Kentucky. Craig goes to work every day enthusiastically and never slows up at the end of the day. His work ethic is excellent and they speak highly of him up in the front office and among his co-workers. If you’re down and depressed, you won’t be for long when you’re around him. He always makes my day. He will for you too. He is always there to help a person in need for even the smallest thing. Compassion, intelligence, solid worker. You got the ingredients, My Man. And my respect. God Bless You.

 

We’re done with this plot

And the aborted free-for-all

Idiot’s not playing

Any frickin’ football

 

That’s a drag

Hit a snag

 

I remember Days of Gil

Back in ’74

The pigskin days

Were obsessed with the score

 

Not any more

What a bore

 

Can’t they shift the Jets ‘n’ Sharks

Over to Wizard of Id

Arlo & Janis

or even Rose is Roooooossssseeeeee

God forbid

 

I’ve had enouggghhhhhhh

All the young fools(Hey fools)

Carry the news(Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you)

Bun-gle-ing boobs(Get on with basketball, forChristsake)

Carry the news(And,Tiki, take off that yarmulke, you’re being reinstated, not at a Bar Mitzvah)

 

A conversation between Dr. Pearl and Gil Thorp

“Now I must go and get on Gil”

Get your mind out of the gutter, gang. If you’d been reading “Eats, Shoots & Leaves” by Lynne Truss, you’d have known that Dr. Pearl has a husband and has no interest in Coach Thorp. Mimi is saved for yet another night.

Here’s the corrected version

“Now I must go and get on, Gil.”

Nope, this sexual tryst was not to be, arousing controversy for a plot badly in need of one, if only for the readers’ interest, let alone sanity. Instead, Dr. Pearl and Gil could prattle on about the 1908 Cubs but Dr. Pearl’s Ladies Night Out at the Milford Bingo Hall with her husband can’t wait. Leave the light on in the hallway when you leave Gil, er, leave, Gil.

BTW, “Eats, Shoots & Leaves” is DEFINITE required reading for you aspiring writers. VERY indispensible. Don’t start your literary career without it.

“Mimi has pimples on her butt; she uses dental floss to scrape The Bucket Liver Cheeseburger bits out of her teeth.”

Again, she doesn’t have tattoos on her derriere either as Gil insists. Well, I haven’t seen her at the Milford Tattoos and More parlor recently, so I believe her.

Anyhoo, the corrected version

“Mimi has pimples on her. But she uses dental floss to scrape The Bucket Liver Cheeseburger bits out of her teeth.”

 

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, P1 is just absolutely, positively ridiculous. Hello, Joe and Tiki, this is a sports comic strip, not Siskel and Ebert.

“I thought Gil, with that smile in P3, reminded me of that flunkee that followed around Napoleon when he was pursuing Bugs Bunny all over Versailles. It added texture to the plot.”

“I disagree, Gene. Gil’s too flat and Kaz isn’t helping, spending more time playing Atari with Gil than conceiving of any real football action.”

“Roger, I’ll give you that this plot is an abysmal failure and should be shot at dawn along with Czar Nicholas in Novosibirsk somewhere but there are brownie points you haven’t taken into consideration. Kaz is simply trying to solidify his relationship by guiding Gil with the joystick when negotiating one of those worthless race cars on Al Unser’s Fantasy Racing at the Indy 500.”

“Well, if he is, He and his brother Bobby ought to start their own hobby shop because Kaz is not a factor and his worth to the plot reminds me of those plastic fish heads the dancers were wearing in ‘Godzilla versus The Smog Monster’.”

“You drive a mean bargain but unfortunately a rebuttal is not to be as our time is just about up. Both Roger and I gave ‘Gil Versus The Rug Rats Disguised As A Harley Motorcycle Gang’ a Thumbs Down. That’s all the time we have. We’ll see you next week at the movies.”

 

You done ruined the season

With movies and Tiki

I hope you’re happy

Cuz that’s pretty cheeky

 

Have you no shame

There’s no game

 

Gil and Kaz are in the room

Gettin’ down on Rolling Stones

They can’t get enough

Of Elvis clones

 

Get a life

Sez your wife

 

Dr. Pearl is bound to show up

Any old time

Wondering why

You’re not on classroom time

Teaching Lifetime Frisbee

Underwater Phys Ed

or Advanced Spelunkinnnngggggggggggg

 

I’m just about to barf

All the young fools(Yeah, YOU, fools)

Carry the news(What’re you doing at Blockbuster Video?)

Bun-gle-ing Boobs(Couldn’t whup those bullies that pick on Bart Simpson?-and Joe’s the Second Coming of the VideoHound)

Got the wrong tools(And this plot is a WOOF!!!!!!!!)

 

Gil said “Kaz, you’re a real pussy. My great-grandmother Thorp could have fought those losers.”

Now if you’ve been doing the required reading of “Eats, Shoots & Leaves”, like I assigned in class, gang, you’d KNOW that this isn’t correct. Gil doesn’t own a cat.

Gil exclaimed “Kaz, your Siamese is a real pussy. BTW, my great grand piano owned by my mother got frothed in the car wash by those hosers.”

 

And do I have to beat this in the ground? I mean, c’mon, those smiles are just beggin’ for Looney Tune satire as long as we’re going to stomach another episode of “Gil Thorp, P.I.”.

“Kaz, did you get the photo of that one gang member who photo was seen in all the post offices all over Milford?”

“Ummmmmmmmmm…”

“Well, did you, yes or no?”

“No, I lost them when I tripped and fell and they got wedged in the piano keys, the same one that went down the chute at the car wash.”

This is Looney Tunes, keep in mind. Gil is a guest star(permanent, when you think about it).

Gil is boiling mad and gets his 16-foot rifle w/saber and tells Kaz to bend over out by the flagpole out front.

“I hate this.”

STAB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-woo-hoo-hoo…

Dr. Pearl, on the second floor in a staff meeting with the Foreign Language Department looks out the window and is wondering why Coach Kaz is jumping 85 feet in the air.

Well, at least Tiki escaped.

 

The Stepford Wives invade Milford

“I need you to run the clock the rest of the season. You all play a shit-ass 5-game schedule anyway. Coach Luhm can take over.”

“Oh, Gil, I will follow your football and basketball teams from Samaria to Judea unto the ends of the earth. Your coaching is the end-all and I was just baby-sitting. Who’s going to be Luhm’s asistant?”

“Daffy Duck.”

“I can think of no better choice. When she’s not vegetating in Ms. Rizk’s room, digging up stories fit for Better Homes & Gardens, she’s feisty, she’s fair, and, by God, she’s Milford Incarnate.”

“Fine. You know where there’s an outlet to plug the timer?”

“Oh, thou art Atman, Gil. It is situated next to the drinking fountain.”

 

Mrs. Andrews, one evening at home.

“Do you want Splenda or sugar in your coff-”

“Do you want Splenda or sugar in your coff-”

“Do you want Splenda or sugar in your coff-”

 

“Gil, this is Tod. What was the number of Milford Robotics?”

 

“…and that’ll wrap things up here in Blooming’s Ton, where the Hosers defeat the De La Warre Blue Hens in the Hoser Holly-Day Classic by a score of 90:52. For Max Skirvin, this is Don Fischer, so long everybody.”

Okay, gang, a few more spelling errors but the song remains the same.

READ THE DAMN BOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to Dustin Howard, of Louisville, Kentucky, for his help with this idea. Dustin is a good man and has a nifty sense of humor. It DEFINITELY helped here.

 

All right, gang. You know the drill. BTW, I can’t wait for the sequel to Tiki: The Lost Generation. Ahhhhhhhh, think I’d rather switch to basketball.

 

Football is over

In all of the states

High schools are switching sports

At a phenomenal rate

 

Oh, not Gil

Never will

 

Someday Gil will learn

This is not Leonard Maltin

This is just a lukewarm version

Of John-Boy Walton

 

Act your age

Leave the stage

 

Someone’s got me glued

To this merry-go-round

Can’t I get off and ride the

Wild Mouse

The Ferris Wheel

I’ll even settle for the kiddie bumper carrrrsssssssss

 

All the young fools(If the cleat fits, wear it)

Carry the news(That the name of Gil is proclaimed and he coaches actors, not players)

Bum-ble-ing boobs(They really can’t even act either, better go back to touch football)

You have no clue(Did Tank McNamara ever report sports news for Entertainment Weekly?)

 

All the young fools(ALL THE YOUNG FOOLS)

Carry the news(TAKE THIS NEWS TO THE DUMPSTER)

Bum-ble-ing boobs(PLAYING MONOPOLY AND TRYING TO FIGURE HOW TO PAY THE PARK PLACE BILL IS MORE EXCITING THAN THIS)

Your screws are all loose(PLEASE, PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU, GO TO MILFORD TRUE-VALUE HARDWARE AND TIGHTEN THEM)

 

All the young fools…

November 27, 2018

“Raid At Entebbe” This Is Not

Filed under: ?, freak hands, Milford Idiots, What the hell is going on here? — tdrewhardin @ 1:23 pm

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Gang, as our other TWIM writers and contributors have mentioned, this is getting damn silly.

I am watching “The A Team” one random night where Martians land and capture the President’s daughter demanding $100,000,000,000,000,000,000 in ransom to finance their own Cape Canaveral so that they can get another $100,000,000,000,000,000,000 to finance another space station for some creep like Ernst Stavro Blofeld or Dr. Goodhead(James Bond taking a much-needed vacation), etc., and the A Team swears that “surrender” is not in their vocabulary. You’re all psyched up, knowing they’re going to kick some Martian hind end, after the commercial break on Jif and Cadillac Seville of course, and after you hear “This is WDIG-TV”, you FINALLY know that Mr.T is going to do a number on some Martian’s head.

Well, if the show started at 7:00PM and it’s 7:53 and ALL the commercials have been run through(How many ways can you advertise Lean Cuisine, sheesh), you KNOW we’re due for some ass-kickin’. It might be crammed into 7 minutes but it’s been done before(as “Batman” proves-7 minutes of WHAM!!!!!!!! SOCKO!!!!!!!! KAPOW!!!!!!!!!!! RETCH!!!!!!!!!!!-“Well done, Robin, we’ll be sending The Joker up the river where he belongs-whoopsy, daisy, old chum, our times up, we better make way for ‘The Flintstones'”).

So now as Apollo XLVII lands on Mars and heads to their hide-out, somewhere out where the Loch Ness Monster inhabits a lake, we’re expecting camouflage make-up, Uzi’s grenades, handguns, shotguns(“Shoot a Martian for love now”-I can hear Junior Walker sing), tear gas, Mr. T pumping his fist, waiting to grab a Martian by the hair and apply the Sleeper Hold, AK-47’s, not to mention a Humvee which crams in 12,354 commandos, U.N. Peacekeeping troops included, even John Glenn and Gus Grissom, ambassadors for U.S. Space Travel, chime in with their Winchesters, diplomacy hittin’ the road on this one.

But at 7:57, reality sinks in. Mr. T. has a Nikon, Grissom and Glenn shoot their Polaroid at a Martian and the President’s daughter playing one-on-one basketball on some Martian clay court somewhere, while the rest of the A Team shoot their video recorders for a National Geographic Special in the near future. Geez, look at that Martian with that Ibo tribeswoman, both of them displaying their boobs as typifies many National Geographic articles and pictures. And get a load of that Martian trying to hog-tie that white rhino at the rodeo. Martians are cowboys too, I s’pose. And I didn’t know Martians live in Tipis. Talk about Dances With Wolves.

At 8:00, when “Rhoda” comes on, we are left devoid of any action and go to the Milford Video Connection and rent 10 “Rambo” movies. What happens when your fix has not been satisfied. When we gotta resort to “Rambo Raids Gil’s Refrigerator”, we are desperate.

“Don’t point the camera that way, FOOL!!!!!!!! That’s his butt you’re shootin’!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

 

Come to Mike Smith Firestone in New Albany, Indiana where you ALWAYS get taken care of and at a fair price. Smack dab in Downtown New Albany, he has always done a great job for me and my dad as we do a lot of traveling in our business and good tires are a premium. Mike always comes through and we can keep our business running thanks to Mike and his staff. His mechanics have always treated us right and many times the problem is fixed the same day. I’m bettin’ other customers can say the same. Gang, if you’re in the neighborhood, check him out. Treat your vehicle to the best. Mike Smith is da Man.

 

Then come up the hill to Mike’s brother at Jeff Smith Marathon in Edwardsville, Indiana. I get all my gas there and they have full-time mechanics ready to fix any problem at any time. What I like is the parking lot is full of vehicles ready to be worked on. THAT’S busy. They’re doing something right. And I am always greeted with a smile by Crystal who gives that same smile to ALL the other customers she meets. Good quality gas, great mechanics, great customer service from people like Crystal, great owner, and pumps that are always busy and I think you have a recipe for success.

Gang, support small businesses like the two I just mentioned. Yes, we all shop at Wal-Mart but you need to go where EVERYBODY knows your name. Mike, Jeff, and Crystal know mine.

 

Now that another episode of “The Rat Patrol” has just about concluded, as evidenced by their whooping it up on their walkie-talkies and Iwo Jima has been nuked to death from a Kodak perspective(Boy, if I were Hirohito and Truman threatened to bomb Hiroshima with a Polaroid One-Step, I’d be in Honolulu with my dignitaries requesting the surrender papers ASAP), I’m still wrapping up the Musical Chairs version of the plot. It hasn’t gotten to “Days of Our Lives” proportions, that’s the consolation prize.

Anyhoo, that’s Tiki, while in Car #2, that’s Joe and Leonard. We don’t think the last name is Bruce since the dude is black but taking no chances here. I’m not gonna get surprised by Joe and Allen Funt.

“Man, that looks like the black dude all grown up from ‘Wee Pals’.”

Smiiiilllllleeeeeee, you’re on ‘Candid Camera’ as Allen triumphantly proclaims

“Nope, T. Drew, that’s Bootsy Collins driving the mini-van. You didn’t notice his funky heels?????????”

 

Shout-out to Kristi Sykes and Tyler, of Louisville, Kentucky, for their take on living. Kristi has served on numerous boards to make Our Fair City a better place to live. Gotta hand it to ya, Kristi, you stuck your neck on the line to improve the living conditions of the things around us. Thank you for putting in the long hours it takes to make the decisions necessary to make things a go. and you’re teaching Tyler the same thing. Sure, it’s okay to sacrifice, Tyler. You always come out ahead that way. Treat Kristi with respect, gang. She’s earned it.

 

Because I’m really trying to figure pout what a Bioesthetic Dentist does as per a sign I saw last week

“Gil, my goodness, your teeth look great!!!!!!!!! White and shiny!!!!!!!! I could see them sparkle while you were doing morning duty in the parking lot while I was pulling in.”

“Gee, thanks. I just wanted to be At My Most Beautiful. It just wasn’t enough to use Colgate or Crest. So I went Milford Bioesthetic Dentistry Practitioners, Inc., to get the whole package, teeth that complement your visage. My bioesthetist offered to perform a nose job, I still had insurance money left, but I said ‘no. thank you’, I think I still look like Robert Redford without the Poly-Grip.”

“Well, Gil, I hate to break it to you but I think your bioesthetist did the wrong procedure. You look like Flipper.”

Gil, banging his spout

“I KNEW he used the wrong anasthesia!!!!!!!!!!”

A shout-out to Josiah Rousseau-Taylor and his mom, Amanda Rousseau, of Louisville, Kentucky. Both of them have plenty of get-up-and go and they proved that getting out and about today. It is easy to sit at home and hope the world comes to you but These two people live life the way it should be lived. Whether a trip to the hospital or to go shopping, they are always doing something to make the world a better place. And they both do it with a smile on their faces. Salute them, gang, they deserve the support.

 

Watching “To Tell The Truth” one night at 1:00AM on WDIG when the station ran out of “Murder, She Wrote” episodes.

 

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Hi, I’m Garry Moore and welcome to ‘To Tell The Truth’. Today we are about to uncover the personality of some dipwad of a coach. He says he coaches at Milford High School though he declined to say in which state the high school or the town, for that matter, is located. THAT should be a challenge to our panel of judges, speaking of which, are anticipating The Moment even as I speak. Let’s say ‘Hello’ to our celebrity judges, none of whom are making any movies or TV shows nor competing for the stage with Frankie in Vegas, Jack Carter, Nanette Fabray, and Louis Nye.

Applause, Applause

“Now let’s meet our 3 contestants. one of whom is telling the truth.”

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

 

Johnny Olson, normally not on the show, Don Pardo called in, reads the roll

“#1, what is your name?”

“My name is Gil Thorp.”

“#2, what is your name?”

“My name is Gil Thorp.”

“#3, what is your name?”

“My name is Gil Thorp.”

 

“OK, Gentlemen, if you’ll have a seat, we can commence with the questioning.”

Jack commences

“#1, I noticed you’re Black and I swear, you look like James Brown. Can you honestly say with a straight face that you are Gil Thorp and that you commanded the respect of primarily white kids? I’ve read the strip, y’know. Those threads are straight out of ‘Living in America’. You’ve worn that on a rainy night when you got your ass handed to you by New Thayer?”

“Mr. Carter, I assure you, I was there the night we got an ass-whuppin’ from the team you mentioned. Contrary to what you say, I wore my Speedo sweat suit and matching Florsheim loafers. I even quoted from ‘Our Daily Bread’ after the game for inspiration. I’ll admit I read from the wrong date, I read the sermonette on ‘Gossip’, but the kids were quick to correct the error and hand me the intended rain-soaked page. It talked about how David might have gotten squashed by Goliath nut there was always the Playdowns. David was going to slay his 10,000’s in the Post-season.”

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAH

“Folks, that means we have to take a commercial break. We’ll be back after these messages. Stay with us.”

 

“If you’ve been defaced as a result of bad dental practices, get 3 times the money at Sharkey Law Offices. Why settle for your mom’s allowance  money after a malpractice suit on a tooth pull when you can THINK BIG!!!!!!!!!”

“I knew we shouldn’t have used the dental lathe as a pulley to pull my my rear molar out of its socket. I got tangled in the machine and I couldn’t appear on ‘To Tell The Truth’ to convince the audience I was Gil Thorp. No, my cheekbones were shattered and I looked like The Fly, minus a molar. Thank God, The Shark got me 3 times the money the Milford Public Defender could only conceive in his dreams. I may have trouble cashing the check, matching my face with my photo ID on my driver’s license takes some doing, but my kids can vouch for me at the Milford IGA. I give ’em a Snickers for helping me.”

“You heard right. Get 3 times the money!!!!!!! No need to pay needless expenses at the Milford Quik-ee Mart on lottery tickets; You have a winning ticket without having to stand in line. Or drink their day-old Colombian-blend coffee. Call 1-FON-THE-JAWS and get justly compensated.”

 

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

 

“Welcome back. Nanette, it’s your turn.”

“#3, how long have you been coaching at Milford?”

“For the last 60 years, give or take a decade. It’s kinda fuzzy because the brainwashing I experienced in the Korean War did a number on my memory.”

Louis Nye at the plate.

“#3, how many champions have you coached during this time?”

“Oh, I’d say quite a few. I coached Moose Mason in the Long Jump and Reggie Mantle in the Shot Put. A real smart-ass but, by golly, could he throw. He about knocked out the Ironwood Ingot coach who BTW was an asshole. That mug would jack up the hurdles at the last second when the judges weren’t looking and Dilton Doiley wound up with ‘Hurdle Nose’ in the 100-Meter Dash. Then Archie Andrews helped us win the Marathon in record fashion. Pulled away from Tod Andrews’ son and the rest of the pack by the mile marker at Logan’s Steakhouse in Oakwood.”

“#3”, Jack Carter brusquely interrupts, “You are aware that you’re talking about Riverdale High?”

“They were on a Foreign-Student Exchange Program with Milford High. I would have wanted to coach Luke Bunkin his sophomore year but Dr. Pearl took it out of my hands. She felt Pop’s Choklit Shoppe would broaden the students’ horizons and help them experience a different culture.”

Nanette Fabray at the plate.

“#2, it’s my understanding that the TWIMers and the reading populace in general say you can’t coach your way out of a friggin’ Bucket Burger bag. What do you think?”

“Listen”, as #2 stands up, climbs over the table and goes after the panel

“When you are left with a bad plot and nominal players, what am I supposed to do? I mean, one of our players spends more time at the cinema, eating tubs of popcorn and Mike and Ike, than he spends on the football field!!!!!!!!”

Two security guards, borrowed from Judge Judy, hold him back

“Then you got this Tiki who comes from Micronesia, Polynesia, Fiji Islands, Lanai, Oahu, Guam, Pitcairn Island. Bikini Atoll, whatever, trying to convince me that he hung around with The Sharks. Well, have you seen Maria yet? Have you??????? I didn’t see her singing ‘I Feel Pretty’ while they were supposedly dating…”

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“And we’ll be back after this” as Garry Moore rewinds the canned chorus to keep the audience from thinking #2 was serious, Bah Bah’ing the machine to death.

 

“I went to my bioesthetic dentist, hoping to look like Brad Pitt or Russell Crowe. I would have even settled for Errol Flynn. Instead, I got the face of King Kong and I still have my abscess. My kid’s birthday luau was ruined. all the kids at the party stayed on the other end of the pool and didn’t want Daddy Kong anywhere near the diving board. Cannonballs were out of the question. Thank God, The Shark got me 3 times the money.”

“Don’t let Bioesthetic Dentistry deprive you of your dignity. If yo go to your office Christmas party looking like Godzilla, dental work included, call 1-FON-THE-JAWS today. Hard to play kissee-face with the secretaries in this condition. Let The Shark get you back to the Drew Dandey days and get 3 times the money.”

“Now when Blue Oyster Cult plays ‘Godzilla’, I don’t panic. And I no longer creep up to the mirror. Thanks, Shark.”

“Call The Shark today. What have you got to lose except Fay Wray?”

 

Bah

Bah Bah Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“All right, panel, have you reached a decision on the real Gil Thorp? Jack, what do you think?”

“Ahhhhh, I’m having a real problem with #3. I don’t remember Gil with an earring up his nose or a tattoo on his left butt cheek that says ‘The Grim Reaper played nose tackle at Milford and sent ’em flyin’!!!!!!’ as he vividly described in the pre-show ceremony. Thank God he didn’t drop his drawers to prove it(audience light laughter). And it was a toss-up between #1 and #2, but OK, #1, you’ve convinced me. There is a Black Moses in Milford, ready to part the fans on the football field when there’s a riot after the game, after you’ve won, naturally. You can teach good sportsmanship and win too. You’re Gil Thorp.”

“Allllll right, very good. Louie?”

“#2, ya gotta keep your wits on, Buddy, if ya wanna make it in Show Biz. Ya can’t lead an ant farm with that kind of temper. #3, I’m in for ya, Bub. Hell, my mom had a tattoo on her boobs that said ‘Jesus is Lord of my Life’. Ain’t nuthin’ wrong with tattoos, just don’t scratch one on my pate(Audience again lightly laughs). So you are Gil Thorp.”

“Annnnnnnnddddddd Nanette.”

“#1, I didn’t like what you said about playing Hyattsville DeMatha Catholic, Maryland or Oak Hill, Virginia or Univerity Heights, Kentucky. These schools are nowhere near your district in the comic strip and I read the funnies all the time, so I know. When you insisted that Snuffy Smith graduated from New Thayer, I knew you were an impostor.

And #2, your hair is designed in a way only the Bride of Frankenstein could love. I thought you were Herman Munster at first when you introduced yourself but noticed Lily wasn’t in the audience so YOU are Gil Thorp.”

“All right, the votes are in. Here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Will the REAL Gil Thorp please stand up?”

All three are staring at each other…

“We now resume our regularly scheduled broadcast, already in progress.”

 

“What should we do with these punks?”

“There’s only one thing TO DO. Jeb, fetch the nooses.”

“Texas Ranger Studman Machomaniac Kent Walker Shaw, the ACLU will be up to our gluteus maximus over this one. And have you ever tried to hang a bunch of teenagers off a swing set?”

“I can’t help it if there’s no trees around. The loggers got a hold of them deformed specimens in the back of Gil’s window after getting the Sierra Club to back off. Plus, it’s my show.”

“What’ll we do with Tiki?”

“Hell, send him over to Smidgens. Husband and wife are harmless. Plus they don’t show no private parts. Tiki’ll keep that thing in his pocket fer sure.”

 

Gang, it’s your turn. Me and the rest of the A Team should be done shooting photos and off the planet by the time you can say

Bah

Bah Bah  Bah

Bah Bah

BAH BAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

October 30, 2018

Thanks, Marty, I Can Start My Own Matchbox Collection Again.

103018

As fellow TWIMer Vaganova noted about a couple of items that qualified for Pantheon of Mysterious Objects (and, boy, THEY QUALIFIED) , I am weighing in with my own contribution, namely from P1 that’ll get any kid filled with glee. That  Matchbox sedan with custom chrome wheels and vinyl bucket seats and a steering wheel (and a microcosmic  daredevil Evel Knievel in the driver’s seat) could pass for a microphone in any country. I bet Maxwell Smart has a couple in his pocket when battling KAOS.

 

All righty then, so NOW we know that the mystery interviewer yesterday wasn’t Donna Reed’s husband. I know he had a bit of a sardonic twinge to him but nothing like Moon Man himself. And it’s good to have him back needling Coach Thorp about his (loosely speaking)  game strategy, among other things. For 60 years, death, taxes, mutant poplar trees in the background, and Marty’s rapier wit were part of the inductive reasoning process, sure, like the sun rising in the west after 1,000,000 times of doing the opposite, you might see something different (maybe mutant elms) but then again, Nancy and Sluggo might be put up for adoption.

 

And it’s PRETTY DARN SAD when Marty’s caustic side show is now the main attraction. Folks, when I go to the circus, I watch the elephants, not the flunkies shoveling their droppings after they got the audience clapping with approval when . Dumbo sat on his hind legs, begging for a Milk Bone (“Sit, Dumbo, Sit”) . You old-timers remember The Family Circus when they would show their one panel in the Sunday paper but on the side, evidently Bil Keane, the artist (God Bless You, My Man, kept us kids entertained for eons, Jeffy, (Bil’s son, now the artist), keep the tradition alive) , allowed his kids to create some cartoons to the side of the panel and they were entertaining because the little panels made a pun which was published below the little vignette? I always got a kick out them but carrying this to a faltering plotline is infusing a dead horse with unnecessary nutriments. Shoot Mr. Ed, Marty and Gil. Thrust and Parry for this travesty is like watching Jerry Lawler and the Moon Dogs battle it out at the Memphis Coliseum for what’s inside the Trix box.

 

Mimi reading the Sunday Comix in The Milford Enquirer

“Marty Moon and Gil”

Above the caption, a kid named Marty is displaying his butt to all the piranhas in the family aquarium

“Mommy, what happened to The Family Circus? It’s all smudgy and yucky.”

 

 

While I was reading “Parade” in the Milford Sunday Enquirer, I ran across an ad for hearing aids which claimed that loss of hearing leads to Alzheimer’s Disease.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm

Okay, I’ve solved one problem (beat the Hardy Boys at their own game-YESSSSSSSSS!!!!) . Gil’s inept coaching can be solved by upgrading his Beltone. And Mimi will know what to stuff in the stocking at Christmas.

“Boy, what a holiday, Mimi. Apples, candy canes, peppermints, sugar plums, Reese’s 6-Pak Mimi’s, Oreos, Fritos Chili Chips, slice of fruit cake and hearing aids. ’tis the Season.

Now onward to solve another problem and FINALLY capture the Holy Grail.

“Mimi, do you think the kids wrapped my hearing aid in those ties with the Mudlark logo on them?”

“I don’t know”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Oops, I was watching the Monty Python Marathon. Hope they can yank Mimi out of the fireplace. Anyhoo

Great Grandma Maltilda Eleazar Naomi Thorp comes to visit Gil & family.

“Gil, she is an interesting person. And she’s holding up well for 137-years old.”

“Yup, she and Ms. Rizk and Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies were all on the cheerleading squad at the same high school and were in the same graduating class.”

“But I’m a little worried. She got pulled over for a DUI last week in her 1897 Camaro. She also almost drank out of the Glidden Vanilla White paint can, thinking it was milk. Then she backed into the verandah and that’s going to take a month to repair.”

“I understand. We’ll just have to have our meaningless tete-a-tetes at the Milford Lounge until I can get an estimate from Milford Deck & Patio Furnishments. We can put up with the sand volleyball tournaments until then. The Thanksgiving Macy’s Day Parade Double-Elimination Extravaganza will evaporate before you know it and we can talk about your basketball team without a hitch. We can manage a discussion about your 5-game schedule above the juke box, no problem.”

“But how do we solve a problem like Great-Grandma Thorp?”

 

“Good question. I had no answer. Kinda how my coaching’s gone for 60 years. But this was serious.

Sure, I paid the bail. No fun sharing a cell with O.J. or Charles Manson or Sweeney Todd. And that’s I took it as an omen to take charge of her hearing..

At Milford Hearing’s All We Do, they have a wide selection of hearing aids designed to deal with an assortment of problems, from tone-deaf so that you don’t get swept in a nuclear fallout while your hearing aid is in your purse to the ones who just need a boost in their audio functions.

Now, my great-grandmother is living life to the fullest, thanks to the good people at Milford Hearing’s All We Do. We didn’t have to reconsolidate our debt and Granny called the other Granny to have lunch at Granny’s Beverly Hillbilly mansion with Jed and Elly May (Jethro had National Guard duty) . They were planning on reminiscing about their high school days and Granny was even going to share with Granny the photo of them posing with President McKinley before a high school basketball game  when they were cheerleaders. Her hearing sounds fine to me. Priceless.”

 

WHO SHOT COACH SHAW?

At the local precinct, next to the Milford Grand Canyon

“We can rule out Mildred Thorp, Gil’s great-grandmother. Several eyewitnesses saw her at the William Jennings Bryan convention.”

“Who’s he?”

“No idea. As long as he ain’t in Hilary’s Commie party, I’m good.”

“Yeah? Well, Trump  stuck his foot in his mouth again, called us the Mudlacks and Gil is upset. And I still say he’s guttin’ our health insurance…”

 

At The Bucket on a Saturday night after a Milford High School victory in ANY sport

Great-Grandma Thorp is on the soda fountain counter, doing The Charleston to James Brown’s “Get Up, I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine.”

Poetry in motion

The O’Jays “For The Love of Money” is on the jukebox

“Geez, how she can do the Fox Trot on the grill while the cook is flippin’ Bucket Burgers is a minor miracle.”

“Agreed. Her hearing aid is as big as a tuba but she’s rockin’ the night away. Can’t wait till they play ‘I Wonder Why He’s The Greatest Dancer’. I heard she boogies better than Donna Summer.”

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Reba McIntire Engaged At 63 To O.J.!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Negotiating team making progress on monitoring O.J. while out of jail on their honeymoon.”

 

 

PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC WHITE BOY

PLAY THAT FUNKY MUSIC RIGHT

 

“Grandma, I gotta sit down. I only slept 4 hours cuz I was searching all night for a punter.”

“HORSE FEATHERS!!!!!!!!! You whippersnapper, if I can whip this French horn in my head and do the splits at the same time without ripping my Depends, then you still got some air in the tank!!!!!! Now trip the light fantastic!!!!!!!!!”

 

 

It’s nice to see Gil went to Floyd the Barber to get a haircut. I didn’t know Floyd was adept at usin’ the scissors to shape a Max Headroom mien. But Floyd, I think you’re stretching things if you try this same shearing method on Barney Fife or Otis the Drunk. You gonna go to his cell while O.J. is sleeping and make an attempt? Good luck.

“Oh, Barney, don’t get discouraged. It takes a while for Thelma Lou to get used to radical ideas. I think your hair looks fine. It still within the Mayberry City Code.”

 

Shout out to Lisa Kik, of Prospect, Kentucky, for her 1st Place championship in Special Olympics Bowling. I would also like to remember her father, her grandfather, and grandmother who encouraged her mightily along the way to achievements like this. That’s what it’s all about. It takes a team to win and no better example than right here. Lisa, keep plugging away as you represent America and what it can accomplish if you keep trying. Congratulations, Lisa.

 

In the center of the floor at The Bucket, a Donald Duck voice is eminent

“…Aw, get down, Mama, ya got some moooovvveesss…”

DISCO

DISCO DUCK!!!!

DISCO

DISCO DUCK!!!!

“Gil, I’m amazed at your great-grandma’s imitations. Loved her take on Ronald Reagan.

Somebody yelling “Giddy-up, Grandma, Giddy-up!!!!!!!!!!!” and “Way to jack that hearing aid to turbocharge, Granny!!!!!!!!!!” awakens Gil.

“Huh, what? Oh yeah, Reagan was a great president.”

“Oh, Gil, phooey. You missed the part where they had to send her to the Time-Out Table. She was displaying her Depends while they were playing ‘You Show Me Yours (And I’ll Show You Mine)’ The place was en fuego.”

Thanks to Cheryl Hogan of Louisville, Kentucky for her contribution to the last scenario. Keep livin’, Cheryl. We need you.

 

And just when we were getting settled into a plot of SOME kind, P3 is potentially veering off in ANOTHER DIRECTION. Thorpiverse, there are only 4 points on the compass. We’re not utilizing the 3-dimension Vulcan plan and hoping we land on Deneb somewhere to establish diplomatic relations with its people. Can we leave Dr. Spock out of Milford, for cryin’ out loud? Enough directions in this plot already.

Sure, Coach Stuard (RIP, Coach, you were a HUGE influence on my playing and coaching) used to teach me “Never let ’em see you sweat”, something Gil is saying in P2 and with good reason. And it appears as if we are rapidly approaching normalcy. P3, with Mr. T and his teammmates in a quandary over whether Tiki is on Mars, on a milk carton, or in the bathroom puking out the stress, sends normalcy back on the USS Enterprise for Dr. McCoy to examine. This might be a trekkie mini-series at the rate we’re going.

 

While Great-Grandmother Thorp is performing live with Dino and Frankie, pursuing the Oldies-but-Goldies route, with Killers (trust me) lie “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime”, “New York, New York”, “In The Wee Small Hours”, “Tuxedo Junction”, “Strangers in the Night”, etc. at The Sands in Milford, Coach Thorp is encountering a bit of a problem.

“$&%@+*/=<>, this machine doesn’t want to spit out anything!!!!!!!!!”

“Gil, you can’t win ’em all.The slot machines will pay off in the long run.”

“Mimi, I’m trying to get M & M’s out of this @%$&*(+=#$% gumball machine!!!!!!!!! That’s the 8th quarter!!!!!!!! Got any more in your purse???????”

 

Gang, it’s all yours. I’m going with the A-Team to look for Tiki. Did anybody check that high school building at the beginning of Funky Winkerbean?

 

“Couple #3, Coach Shaw and Mrs. Coach Shaw, what animal will your wife say best imitates your sexual desire? Is it A) Gorilla B) Donkey C) Raccoon or D) Whale. Coach?

“Most definitely, a gorilla. I go to bed like Tarzan and I am KING OF THE JUNGLE!!!!!!!!! All the other animals in the jungle and in the bedroom are afraid of me!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Well, Tarzan, I hate to break it to you but she answered ‘Whale'”

“Honey, you have a big body, you splash around a lot under the covers, and you smash all the fishies and all my hot flashes with a big SPLAT!!!!!!!!!!! But you never get to the bottom of the ocean!!!!!!!”

“No way you can get to the buried treasure if you don’t dive, Coach Shaw.”

Audience roars with laughter at Eubanks’ last gem. On cue, naturally.

THANK YOU to Matthew Maloney, of Fern Creek, Kentucky, for help with the last comedy idea. Keep chuggin’ at Kroger, Big Guy. You’re not only funny, you keep America working. And strong.

 

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Mildred Thorp Welcomed Into Rat Pack!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Peter Lawford out after fallout with Frankie.”

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