This Week in Milford

March 13, 2018

Who calls Assistant Coach Kaz, “Daddy-O”


Fe Fe Fi Fi Fo Fo Fum

Marty got run from the gymnasium

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

He’s a loon

That Marty Moon

He’s gonna get tough. Just you wait and see

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?


Who’s always ripping all the teams to shreds?

Who’s got the personality of Mr. Ed?

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

He’s a goon

That Marty Moon

He’ll avenge The Dove.  Just you wait and see

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?


He broadcasts all the ball games foaming bile

Even if the ‘Larks win by a mile

His enemies pile up and gather ’round



YEAH YOU!!!!!!!!!

(Milford cheering section in unison, led by Mimi Thorp and Karina Klown)


Who’s calling Coach Thorp impotent and slow?

Who is a vulture on the radio?

That Marty Moon

That Marty Moon

Come back soon

Oh Marty Moon

He’s gonna call your bluff.  Just you wait and see

Why is EVERYBODY always pickin’ on me?

The final BOOMBOOMBOOM can be heard fading into the sewer while Marty races like Dale Earnhardt to WDIG studios, fumbles with his keys to open the door, the Milford Courthouse clock showing 1:15AM, never too early for a muckraker to type a rough draft on his radio screed but too late to catch the other Marty heading back to 1955 due to BOOMBOOMBOOMS from the flux capacitor. A lot of BOOMBOOMBOOMS with his typewriter. From Marty MOON, not McFly, so that we’re clear on things.

Gang, it was toss-up between “Daddy-O” and “Who calls ol’ Doctor Pearl, Mommy-O”. I hope I made the right call.

Wow, gang, I don’t know about you but I think Karina and Paloma dropped one bomb too many over Pearl Harbor (no pun intended). They have aroused a sleeping giant who really never sleeps based upon his arrogance and abrasiveness but what’s a blog without the obligatory cliche, right? The point is, we’re in for some more mud-slinging for the next 2 months (oh boy oh boy). Only the hog-rassling event at the Milford County Fair offers more but that’s only for a day or two. At least in the latter the winner will get a blue ribbon. But wouldn’t you know it, there’s Gil to save the day. As Jive Turkey has noted on a couple of occasions, Gil has been non-existent, especially on this issue. And the extent of Daddy-O’s coaching has been to remind HOR-HAY that there’s a game in front of the Puerto Rican Huckleberry Hound. Not a lot of cool points being dished out. STILL, sure as the mutant poplars grow out of the evergreens like the ones in the background in P1 and shed their antlers(I DID check the definition for “deciduous”, goody me!!!!), Gil HAS drawn a bead on this one after sleeping in his coffin for centuries. That explains why Marty is TOTALLY out of character in P3, continuing his ring-kissing(or maybe the kissing of Gil’s, well, never mind). Gang, I’ll keep saying it. ANYBODY thinking Marty is going to go to the altar and repent better think again. There’s been plenty of Thorpiverse neophytes who had a Euraka!!!!! moment, exclaiming to their friends down at The Bucket “Marty has found Jesus!!!!!!” The Thorpiverse veteran in the corner booth of the same venue orders the Triple Layer Nacho Bandito Supreme because he knows better. They’ve seen Judas turn over a new leaf before only to wind up back in his WDIG office saying “Vengeance is mine, saith The Moon”. Nice set of encyclopedias in P3, Gil, BTW.

If ya lay a Yorkshire flat on its back in yore Hanes imported from the factory in Tijuana and all ya git fer yore troubles is a cream pie, a sombrero and mud enemas, ya might be a redneck.

“What the-                                                              ”

Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking for Coach Thorp. Did they move his office?”

“This has been the boiler room for years. WHO did you say you were looking for?”

“Coach Gil Thorp.”

“Never heard of him. You sure you’re in the right school?”

“Yeah, I broadcasted his game last week in the gym down that hallway.”

“That leads to the cafeteria.”

“What?? No way!!!!! Paloma and her friends ran me out of the gym last week.”

“It was New Year’s Day last week. The school would have been closed. Who’s this Palooka-”


“Paloma, whatever. I never heard of her, either. Who is she, someone who wanted to celebrate 1955 and went a little overboard with it at your expense?”


That’s 3 years before Gil was born!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Where the hell am I?”


You’re on Riverdale High School property!!!!!!!!”

“And Dr. Pearl is not the principal?”

“NO!!!!! CERTAINLY NOT!!!!!!!!!! I AM the principal, Mr. Waldo Weatherbee!!!!!!!! But you can call me The Bee for short, if you like. The students do.”

“DOC!!!!!!!! THANK GOD!!!!!!!!! YA GOTTA SEND ME BACK TO MILFORD!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’LL EVEN APOLOGIZE TO PALOMA!!!!!!!!! BUT, DAMN IT, GET ME BACK TO 2018!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Marty, where did you get that goatee? Nobody grows facial hair in 1955.”

Today’s Women’s History Month entry is another personal favorite of mine, Annie Oakley. Born Phoebe Ann Mosey, she was a VERY adroit talent with the rifle, at one time defeating her future husband, Frank E. Butler, who was not too shabby with the rifle himself. She went on tour with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, dazzling audiences with her marksmanship. She could hit dimes at a distance, shoot a cigarette out of her husband’s mouth, hit a target from behind her, using only a mirror to line up the shot. What was neater was she would hold shooting clinics before the Wild West Show, instructing people on how to use a rifle and the safety procedures that went with it. A picture of Annie helping a young girl shoot a clay pigeon said it all and melted my heart. Annie, you did us proud and proved that women could use a rifle just as well as a man, especially when a rifle was necessary to defend yourself. Please spread the word about her as she contributed to humanity in a MIGHTY way.

Gang, have at it. I gotta go to 1955 and bail out Marty, both of them. AGAIN. Does anybody have a spare key to the flux capacitor?


February 27, 2018

I’ve Been in the Station with a Man With No Name, It Felt Good to Just Soak in the Fame.

Filed under: actual action, basketball, big arms, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 4:45 am


Aaaaaaaaaaaaa, your mother puts soy sauce on her refried beans!!!!!!! Boy, gang, that felt good. I am pumped like Marty to catapult some more mud at Georgie, The Dove(thank God she ran for cover to her tent in her backyard), Krusty’s niece, Ernie, and whoever else attempts to play King of the Hill on the playground at recess with the WDIG god himself, under the pretext of political correctness. So Jorge had nothing to do with this back-and-forth melee. Who cares? Mudslinging takes no prisoners.

I’m beating this in the ground, I realize but Anonymous Calculus Dude a/k/a Herb Tarlek (as duly noted by Ned, good one, BTW, I’d forgotten about WKRP and glad you brought it up) is beginning to worry me. He’s not just passing through, briefcase in hand, returning to Levittown on the planet Oblivion after conversing with a Thorpiverse main character, such as Marty Moon. No, he’s got his own coffee mug with the WDIG Good Housekeeping Seal IN HIS OWN OFFICE!!!!!!!!!! How’d he swing THAT by Marty? Usually they come out of the walls when the janitor’s closet is locked but noooooooooo, Herb is evidently livin’ large in his own corner of the world, with a view of the WDIG Hall of Fame on top of that.  What’s his secret? Are pinstripes and Gucci shoes on the horizon? Lexus for the company car? Don’t have to fill out a W-2 form every time he appears in the strip? Next thing ya know, he’ll have his own Mr. Coffee and won’t have to sneak a brew or two out of Marty’s office. The price of moving up in the corporate ladder. Things take time.

And you whippersnappers are in for a treat as Sister Mary Elephant returns to Milford. Let’s listen.

“Okay, classsss, classssss, be quiet, class, classsssss, SHUT UPPP!!!!!!!! Thank you. Okay, class, your homework assignment is   a 1000-word essay, ‘How I spent my weekend in my backyard’. I want it typed and double-spaced, 8 1/2 x 11 stenographic sheets, use good grammar and punctuation, due on Monday”

“Oh, no way, Sister. Man, all I ever do in my backyard is smoke reefers in my tent, eat Twinkies and Beanie Weenies, wash it down with a Yoo-hoo, and listen to Marty Moon run down all us Puerto Rican’s.  I mean, he’s a prick. You expect me to write 1000 words about that moron?”

“Now, claassssss, I know you got it in you. One of you might be the next Thackeray.”  “Say who???”


“Sister, I don’t know about this Jackie Ray or Jack a Train, or whatever, but if he’s like ol’ Marty, I’m gonna punch his lights out.”

“Now, claassssss, be creative, use some poetry, it doesn’t have to be cold writing. Show some feeling!!!!!!”

“Sister, I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!!!! I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Look out, Anonymous Calculus Dude

’cause I done peed on your shoes.”

And why do we have to have a basketball game, literally in the middle of the strip, when the Gladitorial stage of the mudslinging is just heating up? Do you pull the refried beans out of the microwave well before the beeper says “Done”? Why can’t we just skip it, heck, we’ve relegated basketball(football, baseball, lacrosse, hockey, etc.) to second class anyway, and just beeline to THE MAIN EVENT!!!!!!! C’mon, Thorpiverse, I was beginning to get interested and Jorge drives for a layup, of all things.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa, your mother drives a Bueno Product truck when she’s on vacation to the Smokies!!!!!!!!!!!! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! Score another one!!!!!!!!!!!! If I get good enough, I’ll be on the Hall of Fame wall for sure, right between Herb and Marty. Mudslinging is not for the faint of heart. If you want to be on the porch with the big dogs, ya gotta suck it in.

If ya have had yore fill of the Krabmeat Enchilada and ya get the El Nopal Super-Size Doggie Bag ta take home ta feed yore bloodhounds, further validating the term “doggie bag”, and then proceed to sprinkle  some White Queso Sauce on yore Schlitz later on while watching Dallas in yore recliner chair, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Moon in Hot Water over Gaffe with Milford El Nopal!!!!!!!!!!”

sub head line.

“What’s the big deal? I complained to the waiter that there was half a roach in the Quesadilla Fajita del Pollo and this jackass reporter in the next booth starts typing.”

My final (reluctantly speaking) installment in Black History Month is Arthur Crudup, a very talented Bluesman, noted for writing excellent Blues standards, such as “Mean Old ‘Frisco Blues'”, “So Glad You’re Mine”, “My Baby Left Me”, and “That’s All Right”. The last one was famously recorded by Elvis Presley and became a smash hit. I am angered and outraged that he did not get just financial compensation for his music. In fact, he wound up in later life working as a barge worker, all the while suing the companies that took him to the cleaners. He died in 1974, litigation still in the works. Please spread the word about a man who deserved better.  Love your music, Big Guy.

Racism can be eliminated when we realize we can’t do everything but we can do SOMETHING. If EVERYBODY would do SOMETHING, hate becomes a thing of the past. We can then look forward with hope.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’ll be reading some more “2000 More Insults” if you need me. Gotta stay sharp.

February 1, 2018

In Control, Until They’re Not


Okay, nothing too out of the ordinary to start off with today.  New Small Mudlark Jorge Padilla gets vertical and grabs a board. Gil sticks with his hyphenated game plan and Milford gets the W.  Playing at higher altitudes didn’t give La Junta the advantage at presumably closer to sea level and oxygen richer Milford. Maybe it was the size-shifting basketball that gave them trouble.  They have a long train ride ahead of them.

Panel 3 provides us our Whisky Tango Foxtrot moments of the day. This was a home game, and Milford has banners. How long have they been there? When was the last time we saw a Milford hoops team win the Valley, or anything more? And what’s with that out-of-control, writhing mass of humanity? I need to post up the color version to try to sort them out.


Who are these people? Is that Jorge doing the jazz hands thing in the back? Where’s Aaaaron Aaaagard? Being so much taller than the rest you’d think he’d stand out. Is that Big Ken Brown, still with the team front and center? Who is this freakishly large guy at front right, and what is he doing to front-and-center guy’s left arm? Looks like he’s trying to break it. I’m throwing the Recycled Art tag on him; his profile looks an awful lot like the generic Whigham everyguy profile. Heck, the whole panel just looks like Whigham cut and pasted every rando player he’s drawn for the past few years, with no regard for scale, proportion and perspective.

January 31, 2018

La Junta Is Hanging A Few Banners Themselves


As we from time to time should mention, it seems like it would be a real bad idea to mess with the real life Pete DeWindt. Dude seems like a really cool guy. Honestly, if I were to happen to turn up in Camarillo (FZ reference time? Nah.), I might make an effort to drop by just to say hi.

Meanwhile, I’m thankful for the narration box across panels two and three because, like Gil, I couldn’t bother to remember Mike’s first name either.

Bonus points: Is Marty wearing French cuffs under his Jim Tresselian garb? Is Gil really wearing a solid black tie over a white shirt with no jacket? That’s kinda bad assed in a New Wavey sortof way.

Minus points: Although it is Actual Action, I am not seeing how panel three is in any way related to anything described in that aforementioned narration box.

Metapost: Today’s late post brought to you, in part, by an overachieving FunRun participant.


January 30, 2018

“All I Said to the Ref Was ‘Don’t Space the Floor’. And He Blows a T!!!!!!! Yeah, Right, Whatever.”

Filed under: actual action, basketball, big arms, freak hands, Gil Thorp, Highlight reel — tdrewhardin @ 2:42 am


This is getting already getting off on the wrong foot. Okay, she undoubtedly has a temper which eventually warranted the technical. You watch the other team shoot the technical(s). You move on.

But I find it hard to believe, as I pointed out yesterday, that a cabal of referees are in some smoke-filled room in a warehouse somewhere, the same one that used to be The Riddler’s hideout, discussing ways to stick it to players from a certain country. Sure, they’re watching game film analyzing mechanics and procedures when it comes to skewering all players from Yemen. That way, the refs’ll be ready to screw up a Yemeni’s post play by calling 3 seconds the first time the poor schmuck sticks his toe in the lane. And did I mention the handouts that were published discussing ways to call all fouls on Bulgarians but none on the Latvians? Unless there’s blood. Don’t let the game get out of control.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Anybody who has played ANY level of basketball, from Joe Schlabotnik to Wilt Chamberlain, from sandlot courts to Y Leagues to Church Leagues to High School Basketball to Industrial League on Thursday night at the elementary school gymnasium to North Carolina/Duke rivalry to the NBA knows THE TOP OF THE KEY IS NOT 3 FEET FROM THE BASKET!!!!!!!!!!!!! No wonder why Aardvark is having a career night.

And when running the break, as I’m presuming is developing in P3, the Pony Express-U. S. Marshal Convoy method is really not going to lead to a lot of easy buckets, even with the hapless Mudlark trailing them. The mail might get rejected in the 5th row.

Okay, that out of the way, as promised, I have a song, sung to the tune of Frank Zappa’s “Valley Girl” that confronts a pouty female who really has nobody to blame but herself.

She’s a Valley Girl, She’s a Valley Girl Okay, fine                                                           Fer sure, fer sure                                               She’s a Valley Girl, so sweet & pure


My coach was, like, freaking me out!!!!          She, I’m sorry, dresses like Ellen DeGeneres, gnarly, gnarly.                             Oh, well, at least she didn’t buy her clothes at the Milford Kmart, I’m like, Goodwill City, y’know.                                    And then there’s the ref, we’re talking Lord God King dripster.                                  He, like, not only can’t call a game but picks his nose during a time-out–and slobbers on his whistle!!!!!!!!!!!!!                   Gag me, gag me, puh-LEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!


Downtown Milford, there she goes            She just bought some new gym clothes    Tosses free throws                                           And flips the ref.                                        She’s got a whole lot of nothing left


Like, Oh my God, there’s The Bucket.         Their patty melts are so AWE-some!!!!!!!!! But the counter guy suggested lobster claws. Oh, I’m so sure, no way I’d EVER touch an insect, let alone eat that piece of rubber. Do they want me to throw up before the game? Gag me with a Spalding basketball!!!!!!!!!!!!


Last idea to cross her mind                            Had something to do with where to find     A pair of shorts                                               to fit her butt                                               And jogging track to slim her gut


I mean, New Thayer is so bitchin’ and then there’s, like, the Oakwood Galleria and, like, all these really great shoe stores!!! There’s beaucoup of them in the San Gilberto Valley. I used Daddy-O’s Gold Visa Card to buy a pair of, like, Air Jordans, I mean, those Nikes are SO AWESOME!!!!!!!


She’s a Valley Girl on the hardwood floor  OK, fine                                                           She’ll score some more                                  Mudlarks rule                                                   They’ll win the war


Anyway, he goes, do you wanna play for the Ironwood Ingots? Oh, yeah, right, could you, like, just picture me sitting in, like, a photograph with a buncha slimy girls with icky B. O. and no teeth??? The coach hadn’t used a razor in 3 days??? Hurt me, hurt me, just don’t kiss me. I’m so suuurrreee. No way!!!!!!!!! And I heard they inbreed!!!!!!!!! Maximum groty!!!!!!!!!!! YUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

She’s a Valley Girl                                             She’s a Valley Girl…


Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Local Teen Wins Harassment Suit Against O. J.!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Judge Ito: ‘I definitely saw a pattern trending towards Puerto Ricans, gloves or no gloves.’ ”

“Cochran: ‘My client will never get a fair shake in this town. This whole Mudlurkian system was rigged from the get-go.’ ”


Gang, you may fire when ready. You guys make it happen.

January 18, 2018

“They Actually Asked Me if I Wanted a Hot Apple Pie With My Order.”


Dad, if you’re reading this, thanks for egging me on. I was scared clueless but you always navigate the storms with the best of them. Love you, Big Guy.

Not that my mom (happy birthday, yesterday, Mom) and my sister didn’t figure into things. They certainly gave me incentive to pull this one off. Love you too.

This is the Dean Koontz novel that was never published, stored under his high school yearbooks in the attic. You know, Ernest P. Worrell’s thought process arose from the grave of anonymous cemetery somewhere in Nashville, leaving the body of the aforementioned to rot eternally in the ground (“Ernest P. Worrell burns in Hell along with Carrie White”) and assumed the body of Frito Bandito through the means of telekinesis. His sister, spending more time absorbing culture shock at The Bucket than developing her postup skills (they do have gymnasiums available in case you change your mind), was worried sick about him since one day, while taking her home from school, he said to her “Yo quiero Taco Bell. Tengo mucho hambre. Ya wanna go in the dining area or the drive-thru, Vern? Do ya think my F-150 with them mud-caked monster wheels will clear the bar?”

In P1, Ward Cleaver is having one of those heart-to-heart talks every father has with his son. Here was the gist of the warm words doled out “Beaver, I already have Eddie Haskell at the point and Lumpy Rutherford will play the 2 guard while Lurch will anchor things down low. But don’t worry, if Eddie or Lumpy are caught not hustling, you’re comin’ off the bench.”

And you’re not fooling me, Thorpiverse. Gil and Jorge missed the ferry across the river Styx to Hades, Charon running behind, although said mythological figure managed to transport Ernest P. and Carrie in a reasonable amount of time. So Gil and Jorge are returning from the Shadow of Death. Perhaps another time.

In P3, it gets about as ridiculous as you can imagine. Many countries, Third World countries included, have been bitten by the Americana bug and are liberally sprinkled with McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut, Wal-Mart, etc. Maybe 30-40 years ago, America was kept at a distance but now I have yet to read an article in the paper discussing some Third World dictator executing political prisoners on the charges of devouring one Big Mac too many. And what makes it worse, Puerto Rico is a Commonwealth of the U. S. Not that I approve of what’s going on (I don’t) but Puerto Rico has also arguably been one of the forerunners of soaking in American culture.

Oooook, so that said, if ya git Church’s Fried Chicken 3-Piece (2 breasts, 1 wing) Extra-Greasy Combo with mashed potatas ‘n’ okra, both stuffed in them microscopic styrofoam cups and ya have a bunch of ’em stored in 5 feet x 5 feet crates shipped from the ports of San Juan straight to a space in yore garage next to the power riding mower, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“UFO Spotted in the Milford Gymnasium!!!!!!”

“Officials Later Confirmed That Someone Was Practicing His 3-Point Shooting.”

Yesterday’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“Gil Claims to Have Seen Elvis!!!!!!!!!!”

“I Told Him I Needed A Note From His Parents and His Physical Had to Be Turned in by Friday.”

Gang, you’ve been super all week. The comments were electric and I wish I could address ’em all because they were FUNNY and/or THOUGHT-PROVOKING. It’s your turn, Ladies & Gentlemen. What’s on your mind?


January 4, 2018

Hoops Analysis This Soon? Why Bother?


Every now and then an astute TWIM commenter brings up the notion that Neal Rubin’s Milford, in which high school kids go out for, make, and play regularly on teams in multiple sports, isn’t necessarily an accurate reflection of the current state of youth sports in the US. We occasionally get a glimpse into that world – the summer 2015 arc being a prime example – but by and large it’s a phenomenon that gets overlooked in the Thorpiverse. Given that the deepest drink of success juice Gil’s had in along time came by way of a kid whose sole focus up to that point had been a single sport, you’d think he’d be more amenable to the idea. It might even make for a more intriguing story line than we’re used to seeing. (Me, I was wondering if there’d be some ramifications from Jaquan Case walking around Milford in a hoodie in summertime, but Rubin spit that bit.)

But the Gil Thorp model of team-building probably plays well in places where they still read GRIT Gil Thorp in print. It keeps Gil in a coaching monopoly and Marty in a spiffy crate. So maybe we’ll get treated to a quintet of lunky hoopers dishing out elbows and concussions whilst setting picks for A.A.Ron Aagard (whose splintered home life will hopefully get picked up on as the arc progresses) and another wispy guy in the Max Bacon/Lini Verde mold.

December 16, 2017

Sluggy in the Rain

Filed under: actual action, big arms, Coach Kaz, football, Gil Thorp, Milford Idiots — teenchy @ 4:38 pm


“Kaz, are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“I think so, Gil, but me and Marjie Ducey I mean, what would the children look like?” 

Why are Kaz and Gil cut off at the ankles? Oh, it’s because we’re looking up at them from a POV somewhere down a flight of stairs. Uncle Gary’s, after Kaz pushed him down them? We should be so lucky. What an anticlimax.

Gil’s worried about Rick now? He wasn’t when he got clocked a couple of weeks ago? If his concern is about Rick’s manipulative uncle and spineless mom, why didn’t he lower the boom yesterday? Already armed with the lowdown on Uncle Gary’s Astroturfing campaign, Gil had every opportunity to expose the goateed one for what he is but chose to punt. The Mudlarks will be doing the same – both in the game and with their season – directly.

Today’s post inspiration:

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