This Week in Milford

February 20, 2019

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

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P1: Neither show nor tell is an interesting narrative choice regarding the conversation between B/Robby and WDIG’s resident LBJ impersonator. What is it with this guy and his pockets? Regardless, he should stick with the jacket, as it looks like he crumpled up his tie and ran it through a mangle.

P2: Saying that you work cheap is one of the absolute worst ways one could possibly close out any sort of career/employment discussion. What’s more, I’d like to know how Bobby could afford to work cheap when he’s paying for billboard advertising on the main thoroughfare in and out of town…

P3: We leave those questions aside as today’s so called action concludes with Mimi pouring herself a cup of joe in her personalized mug while Gil awkwardly sits on the world’s most uncomfortable sofa, pretending to read a book. His demonstrable and complete disinterest in Mimi’s day to day is almost symbolic of the strip’s own disinterest in the Lady Mudlarks.

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February 15, 2019

Shakin Bacon

Filed under: basketball, bizarre cameos, Bobby Howry, Gil Thorp, Milford Weirdos — robmize2013 @ 9:54 pm

Its a bird its a plane its…. Maxwell Bacon??? Huh? Oh yeah. December 2014…

https://gilthorp.files.wordpress.com/2014/12/122314.gif

https://gilthorp.files.wordpress.com/2015/01/012615.jpg

..and January 2015, where he changes his name to Max, for 4 years anyway.

So Maxwell is now 21, and he’s got nothing better to do then to walk into the school unnoticed, where schools all over America have security that prevents any hoo ha from just walking in and possibly taking a gun to the whole student body, and say hi to Coach Thorp, who should be asking — “‘Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?? Go back to your senior year at College Of No Hope and graduate so you can get on the wait list for Mopman of Milford, currently held by Steve Luhm, another former Mudlark who was resurrected to make sure everyone slips on the floors of Milford High.”

Well, Max (no, Maxwell) is wondering whats up with that rascal Bobby Howry, who has joined the name change parade and become Robby. Max hasnt gotten the memo that Bobby is now Robby. You mean he’s so busy he doesnt even have time to read this strip??

Whatever– yet another old character is roused from the Milford grave to assist in the storyline that isnt. Why not develop yet another character thats already been developed, and rotted away like an old uneaten banana? Hey, if his last name was Sausage we’d never hear from him again.

It looks like this is how the Howry part of the storyline is gonna be resolved. By having old Bacon back in town to reunite with RobBob and officially plaster him to his own billboard, right under FIRE GIL THORP NOW.  Face-first. He’ll think a swirly is nothing after that.

 

 

February 13, 2019

Never Happy? Are You Kidding? They’re Delirious!

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Somewhere on the streets of Milford, an unknown man leaves his dumpy apartment on Poplar for his dead-end job. Maybe he stocks the shelves at McShane’s Hardware, or washes dishes at Schultz’s Polynesian Garden. He’s gotta wring every last drop out of his tired ’90s econobox (maybe a Plymouth Breeze?), so when the steering wheel rubber starts to crumble, it gets covered with one of those lace-it-yourself leather covers from Milford Auto Parts. He’d been saving up for an aftermarket stereo for the beater but bills gotta get paid so it’s still the tinny AM-FM unit for now. It can’t pick up stations outside the Valley so it’s good old WDIG for him. At least he can listen to Marty Moon; that’s one guy whose life can’t be any less miserable than his.

But what’s this? Marty sounds practically giddy on the air this morning! Must be that new kid sidekick of his, Howdy Booby or something like that. Listen to the two of them feed off each other, like a couple of leeches they are. If it wasn’t for Coach Thorp these two jagoffs would have nothing to talk about. You’d think they’d cover college ball once in a while. Wonder how that Miles Standish kid is doing at Wake Forest? Or the one who didn’t talk, like Mongo. Didn’t he go to State U?

Yeah, that Coach Thorp. He’s the straw that stirs the drink in Milford. Wasn’t for him there’d be no media in this tank town. One fewer blog on the intertubes, that’s for sure.

That reminds me: did you ever have the feeling you were being watched?

 

February 5, 2019

Full Mudlark Jacking Around

Filed under: Bobby Howry, Gil Thorp, Milford Idiots, Pointy Fingers — tdrewhardin @ 3:15 pm

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Coach, you called him into the Oval Office for THAT????????

Let me get Gil’s office out of the way first. Don’t you all remember Gil’s office being fairly compact, semi-cluttered with playbooks, plays, betting slips, player evaluations (when he’s not on the golf course shootin’ his comic strip age-don’t EVEN wanna know what his age is if we’re going by age progression, Father Time range?-or teaching his own kids how to cuss when you shank one in the lake) , scouting reports, athletic director duties, order forms for athletic equipment (“Kaz, you remember how many balls for squash we have left on the ball rack?”) , his mail, junk mail (“Yes, you too can get a COMPLETE uncirculated President Dollar Series 39-coin collection, delivered right to your door. But call now, operators are standing by…”) , Mimi’s nude photos (scratch that) , newspapers, news clippings, Generic Gil, in general?

Oh, not today. Gil went from the out house to the penthouse, moving next door to George Jefferson

“Well, we’re movin’ on up (movin’ on up)

To the school’s roof (movin’ on up)

It’s time I get a real life

 

Yeah, I’m movin’ on up (movin’ on up)

To the school’s roof (movin’ on up)

I need to find a way to ditch my wiffffeeeeee

 

Wendy’s Chili in the kitchen

Bucket Clam Chowder on the grill

Man. I’m livin’ larger than Hefner

Plenty of Nehi to chill

 

God, I’m movin’ on up (movin’ on up)

To the school’s roof (movin’ on up)

Basement’s hard to draw plays for the guyyyysssssss

 

But I’m movin’ on up (movin’ on up)

To the school’s roof (movin’ on up)

It’s time we camped in that film room in the skyyyyyyyyyyyyy

 

You understand this comes with problems.

“Louise, I can’t let that honky share the same floor with me. What are the brothers going to think?”

“George Jefferson, you know better than that. Now if you love me, you’ll keep that 1:00 appointment with Gil down at The Bucket for that banana split prayer and fellowship.”

 

“…so the chicken said to Paul Newman’s French Dressing packet, ‘ya wanna go with me?’

The salad dressing said, what do I look like, Hellmann’s Mayonnaise?”

From a random table at Milford Comedy Club

“Stay in the penthouse, Thorp!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

Thanks to Heather Sanders, of Louisville, Kentucky for the comedy idea. It worked, Heather, and YOU helped.

 

Now to the situation per se.  Really, isn’t today’s 3 panels just a lost episode of Leave it to Beaver? And isn’t P1 the best Beaver Cleaver pose you’ve ever seen? Beaver, even if you are COMPLETELY innocent and you washed your hands of this whole affair, I’m still going to give you the belt ’til your butt turns black and blue. I’m not punishing you because you did anything but the fact you’d come up with such a hare-brained idea in the first place prompted my decision.

 

I can just see the TV ad

“Today, Beaver is presumed guilty until proven innocent when Eddie Haskell promises Beaver’s dad to use the trimmer on June’s garden in exchange for Beaver being grounded for the summer. Only on WDIG-TV.”

 

So from now on, Beaver’s going to have to stand in the corner (hey, the penthouse has plenty of those) if he DREAMS of not doing his homework, pulling Lisa Simpson’s hair, pissing on Schroeder’s piano, calling Mr. Wilson’s wife a whore (“Henry, did you hear what happened to Dennis?”) , egging Archie Andrews’ jalopy, sugaring Jughead’s hamburgers, throwing firecrackers on Snuffy Smith’s porch, injecting Ex-Lax in Marmaduke’s dog food, unplugging the amps at a Partridge Family concert, and showing the X-rated version of Our Gang.

“So that’s what Spanky, Alfalfa, Darla, and Buckwheat look like playing kickball at a nudist colony. Did they get their parents’ permission?”

No, I can’t see “The child goes raw with my permission” either, Beaver.

Coach, we have a Constitution. I know your players use it as a wet rag for their shoes so they don’t slip on the floor but the rest of the U.S. population use it to DEFEND THEIR RIGHTS, keep this country from becoming a dictatorship, that sort of thing. Lordy, what would happen if the WDIG station manager staged a  coup.

And the damage is done, Coach. Why are you putting Filion in Double Jeopardy? (smacks head) I forgot, because the Constitution is reduced to Charmin in the 2-ply, 12-roll pack.

Mr. Whipple in aisle 8 at Milford Wholesale Foods, spotting Mimi in sexual ecstasy.

“Mrs. Thorp, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t squeeze the Constitution?”

“I can’t help it, Mr. Whipple. It reminds me of a fling I had in high school.”

 

WHAT prompted this heart-to-heart unconstitutional chat between Beaver and Ward

 

THE DAYS OF FINGER-SPLICING BETTY ROTTEN CROTCH ARE OVER. YOUR HEART BELONGS TO GOD BUT YOUR ASS BELONGS TO THE CORPS. MY JOB AS YOUR DRILL INSTRUCTOR IS TO TEACH YOU MAGGOTS HOW TO SURVIVE. THE FIRST WORD AND THE LAST WORD COMING OUT OF YOUR FILTHY SEWERS WILL BE SERGEANT, IS THAT CLEAR

sergeant yes sergeant

BULL SHIT QUIT TALKIN’ TO THE GROUND, YOU SLIME

SERGEANT YES SERGEANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT. NOW WE’RE GOIN’ ON A 239-MILE RUN, YOU WEAK BOW-LEGGED MOMMA’S BOYS. I HOPE YOU BROUGHT YOUR CANTEEN

 

“Man, Filion, I didn’t think try-outs would be this tough.”

 

And P2 is bringing more of the same only filled with more pictures that Gil just got back from Milford Car Wash. Geez, I’ll have to take my vehicle down there if they buffer them that nicely. Anyway, Beaver’s contriteness and shirt are running a friendly competition for what reeks the most. That shirt was more than likely used with Turtle Wax to spit-shine Gil’s portaiture of his stance in the dugout while his pitcher is getting shelled (Hey, as long as he gets them across the Delaware, it doesn’t really matter how cold the water is) , so I’m going with shirt but will give partial credit if you vote contriteness.

“Beaver gave his life to Jesus tonight at the Billy Graham Crusade. Are there more?”

 

Now to what Beaver might have said, let’s listen in

“Now Beaver, you don’t have to tell me now, if you don’t feel comfortable ratting on your friends-”

“Honest, Dad, me and Wally didn’t use a helicopter to spray any billboard. Wally only has his learner’s permit. He’d have to have some adult fly with him-”

“Now, Beaver, the whole town of Milford saw you, Wally, and Miss Grundy flying around the city, almost hitting the Milford water tower. It’s only natural that people would have ideas, given the nature of the crime.”

“Well, Dad, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I just found out that they caught Eddie Haskell and Lumpy Rutherford TP’ing Robby’s signs. I guess they ran out of Krylon. They stole ’em from art class. The police caught ’em with a trunkful of Scottowels.”

“Beaver, this is going to hurt me than it hurts you. I never use the paddle more than necessary but when you didn’t do anything and Eddie and Lumpy were caught red-handed, it set off a bad precedent. You’ll never learn that bad plots cause bad people. Look what it did to Pebbles Flintstone. Got caught for shoplifting at the Bedrock Kwik-EE Mart.”

“I understand, Dad. But me and Wally and Miss Grundy only went to the Milford Museum of Natural Sciences and History with the helicopter. We would never spray-paint a dinosaur. BTW, do you need a Coke Zero on your hair? Your Brylcreem’s beginning to melt.”

Thanks to Noi Khampadith, of Louisville, Kentucky, with help with the last comedy idea. You brighten my day, Noi.

 

PRIVATE PYLE, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT. GET OFF THIS COURSE. YOU’RE JUST BREAKING MY FUCKING HEART, YOU LILY-LIVERED SCUMBAG. OF ALL THE GODDAMNEST GRUNTS THAT CAME THROUGH MY PLATOON, YOU ARE THE MOST DISGUSTING TUB OF DOGSHIT GOD EVER LAID EYES ON, YOU SORRY-ASS EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING

“Coach, he just missed a lay=up. He’ll get it right before lay-up drills are over.”

 

“So I told Beaver, while the chicken was running off the helicopter with Kraft Low-Fat Thousand Island dressing, ‘what am I, Pumpkin-Flavored Cool Whip?'”

Mimi inserting last dish in the dishwasher, still looking at Calgon stain on the rotor blade of dishwasher

“Need to do better than that this Friday at the Club, Gil.”

Heather, you come through again.

 

At the Milford Gym one afternoon during basketball practice

One hand on a basketball, the other on their significant other

I GOT A BASKETBALL, I GOT A GUNNNNNNNNN

I GOT A BASKETBALL, I GOT A GUNNNNNNNNN

ONE’S FOR SHOOTIN’, THE OTHER’S FOR FUN

ONE’S FOR SHOOTIN’, THE OTHER’S FOR FUN

MY LARKS

MY LARKS

YOUR LARKS

YOUR LARKS

THE MUDLARKS

THE MUDLARKS

 

In Dr. Pearl’s office one day.

“Gil, they are wearing basketball shorts when they’re practicing, right? We’ve had a few parents complain.”

 

We now turn to P3. When Leave it to Beaver brings closure to things and everybody lives happily ever after. I mean, really, when did you see the men in white suits put Wally in a strait jacket and wheel him off to the Milford State Hospital? And the show ENDS? Ain’t gonna happen. So we listen with bated breath for Ward Cleaver to recite from Our Daily Bread while Beaver confesses that he went with BOTH women from Three’s A Company to see the Saturday matinee of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”, even though everybody was fully-clothed.

“Beaver, that’s beside the point. It’s not good etiquette to take 2 women to a show, other people might think you’re a male prostitiute. I’m afraid I’m going to have to use my fraternity paddle on your behind to teach you a lesson that women are not cattle.”

“I understand, Dad. But Jack DID say it was OK. He had to go out of town on a Norman Vincent Peale seminar. And, I swear, they only served Coke at the concession stand. And Snicker’s King Size. No Gin & Tonic, nuthin’ like that.”

Thanks to Noi once again. Your input HELPED. Keep it up.

Also to Sheldon Campbell of Louisville, Kentucky. the comedy idea went off like a dream. You da Man.

 

I HAVE FAILED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FILION CANNOT SLAM DUNK THE BASKETBALL WITH 2 HANDS NO MATTER HOW MUCH I’VE TRIED TO TEACH HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO FROM NOW ON, I WILL BE BLAMING YOU SINCE HE CAN’T STAY AWAY FROM BUCKET LIVER CHEESEBURGERS!!!!!!!!!!!! ON THE FLOOR, YOU MAGGOTS!!!!!!!!!!!

ONE SIR!!!!!!!!!

TWO SIR!!!!!!!!

……

“So the maggots one night wrapped basketballs with Holiday Inn towels and proceeded to Filion who was sleeping in his car. One maggot asked another maggot, ‘Ya ready to pound his ass with some Spaldings?’

The other maggot responded, ‘what do I look like, KFC Chicken Tenders with Hidden Valley Ranch dressing all over my hair?'”

Today’s headline from the Milford Enquirer

“Gil Thorp Banned From Milford Comedy Club!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Last time lock-out occurred was when Lenny Bruce came to town.”

 

Heather, you come through one more time. See, I told you your ideas are important.

 

One night, behind the door of the den at Coach Shaw’s house

I GOT A RIFLE I GOT A GUNNNNNNNNNN

ONE’S FOR SQUIRREL MEAT THE OTHER’S FOR FUNNNNNNNNN

“Oh, honey, open the door. I’m ready to be shot.”

Coach Shaw, trapped by his own petard, thinks fast.

“Can’t. It would take 3 days to unload this rifle. The trigger’s very sensitive.”

“But you said once that you could take apart a rifle in 39 seconds.”

“Bluh, bluh, our grandkids got Play-doh stuck in the barrel. I’ll need some Liquid Plumber. There’s some right here under my duck boots.”

“But you said once you could unclog a Winchester with a 6-pack of Diet Coke. In fact, you drank the last one in victory because the clog dissolved faster than expected.”

“Honey, I can’t help it if hamster droppings got caught down the chute from the hamster cage.”

“You actually dumped hamster doo-doo and hamster pellets down your rifle?”

“One night I had one Michelob too many. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“But you cleaned it when you recovered from your hangover.”

“Darling, it was a pain in the gut to clean the gun with Drain-O and some Swiffer. And try using a Brill-O pad when the room is spinning. But the gun is stain-free.”

“BTW, we don’t have hamsters. We have Guinea pigs.”

 

“A lack of training in household pets taught me that I needed to get my act together in Erectile Dysfunction. With treatment programs that work, isn’t it time YOU went down to the Clinic before you go to the Reserve huntin’ rabbits? Get your priorities straight, Men. The rabbits’ll still be there. You have memories ahead if you choose to regain your intimacy. Come hunt it down today. You’ll be glad you did.”

 

Noi, The last comedy idea is severely crippled without your input. You did it again.

 

Today’s entry in Black History Month is a personal favorite of mine, Clifford Brown. Man, he was one of the greatest. A Miles Davis before Miles Davis showed up on the scene. A giant of Jazz back in the ’50’s, he performed Jazz standards such as “Sandu”, “Joy Spring” (LOVE the tune) , and “Daahood”. He was a critics’ favorite, getting rave reviews in influential publications like Down Beat. His crisp and carefree BUT disciplined style has found a way in my heart, not to mention his just NEVER missing a note when he  trumpets many times at the speed of light. He was a sensation on a lot of variety shows like Soupy Sales’ program. Brown was tragically killed in 1956 when he was in a car, along with Richie Powell and his wife and the car was a victim of bad weather conditions on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Your light still shines, Clifford. You have an audience with me. I hope he does with you too, gang.

Comment way, gang. I’ll be watching Batman because this Beaver Marathon is getting on  my nerves.

DON’T TRY TO DO ANY BETTER PRIVATE PYLE. YOU’D BE MAKIN’ ME FUCKING HAPPY, SWEETHEART. DID SOMEBODY PISS IN YOUR WHEATIES THIS MORNING????????? I’LL GET RID OF THAT TUB OF SHIT IF I GOTTA GET A STEAMROLLER AND FLATTEN YOUR ASS ON THE FUCKING CONCRETE

“Dr. Pearl, you don’t have to shout. They can hear you 3 floors up. I’ll have the academic transcripts turned in this afternoon. Should be eligible for tonight’s game. We tip off at 7:30. I got the referee’s contract signed this morning.”

February 2, 2019

When Your Loophole Becomes a Noose

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Remember bonfires? Pepperidge Farm remembers. Pepperidge Farm also remembers growing up in the country and going to high school in a one-traffic light town where everything you did went down on your permanent record in the court of public opinion, even in the days before the internet.

Without any exposition, we don’t know whether The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Paint were charged with anything or got off with a warning (maybe ’cause Deputy Dawg went back to huff the spray paint he made the kids leave on the ground). We do know that the blue mafia played telephone with Gil, who’s now fixin’ to make his already bad team even worse.

Again, without any additional exposition we have no evidence that a crime has been committed. Will Gil’s punishment fit the crime? Death Valleys until they puke? Benched for a quarter, or a half, or a game? Do they get kicked off the team just like B/Robby? Really, what’s Gil’s long game here? Kick enough kids off the team to forfeit the rest of the season?

The only bonfire we’ll be seeing hearing is the one the Marty n’ B/Robby Show will be firing up to burn Gil in effigy.

January 30, 2019

The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Paint

Filed under: Bobby Howry, Fontastic, Gil Thorp, Milford Idiots, Where is Milford? — teenchy @ 10:04 am

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By now we here at TWIM (and the strip itself) have made the point on more than one occasion that Gil and the Mudlarks would never have won the state football championship back in ’14 had True Standish not transferred to Milford.  Naturally we’ve used that point as a bludgeon to beat home the point that Gil isn’t capable of coaching his competitive teams up to the next level.  A wise man once said “You can’t make chicken salad out of chicken something else,” and even WDIG’s station manager was able to discern the difference.  The fact that Gil has managed to put competitive teams on the field/court/diamond may very well be a testimony to his ability to make chicken salad out of chicken something else.

Case in point: this bunch of yobbos.  Their “loophole” is not to “not harm, threaten, insult or breathe on” B/Robby but to deface the billboard he’s had put up.  First of course they have to figure out how to get up onto the billboard.  If they’d thought a ladder was necessary, wouldn’t they have noticed they didn’t have one before they set off on their journey?  It’s not like any ladder taller than a stepladder would fit in their cars’ trunks.  What about shimmying up the center pole or giving one another a boost up on their shoulders?  The way they’ve been playing, getting vertical is obviously a challenge to them. Clearly they should’ve gotten Joe Bolek and his crew on the job. They know a little something about painting things in public.

Observant TWIMers may be wondering why I pulled the “Where is Milford?” tag.  I did it because of the tag – the license tag, that is.  Milford is in, well, Milford – unless it’s in one of those one-plate states and the front plate is either a city plate topper like they used to have in North Carolina or a Milford Mudlarks plate from that one time the booster club held a fundraiser to get the teams some practice uniforms.  They don’t have practice uniforms, you say?

 

January 26, 2019

Getting Ripped Every Day

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In typical Gil Thorp Saturday cliffhanger fashion, none of the Mudlark seniors come right out and give rando underclassman the straight dope on B/Robby.  Just some passive-aggressive reasons they didn’t like him.  Could it be that none of them actually know what went down?

I’m having a difficult time figuring out what’s on Andre’s locker shelf.  The rectangular object with the “12” on top I figure to be a shoebox with a genericized Nike logo, unless Andre’s gone super retro with a pair of Batas like Magic Johnson used to wear.  But what’s that next to the shoebox?  Pack of Luckies?  Some Gold Bond?

Also having a difficult time figuring out how B/Robby is sustaining himself such that he can go on Marty’s show every day.  I can’t imagine he’s on the WDIG payroll… yet… but as soon as station manager LBJ figures out Howry will cost him relative peanuts, Marty will be on the streets and dumpster diving behind Schultz’s Polynesian quicker than you can say “Clumsy Amy Lange.”

January 25, 2019

An Echo Chamber Does Not a Groundswell Make

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We’re being asked to fill in a lot of blanks here today.  Other than the one caller who called bullshit on their short-term memory loss yesterday, it’s just been Marty and B/Robby taking turns getting their digs in on Gil.  (You notice no one ever calls for Kaz’s head?  They know he’s liable to track them down and put his fist through theirs.)  Do those two take turns running out of the studio and calling in?  I suppose between calls Marty can get a bite to eat from the automat that has magically appeared behind his head.  Or do Wildcat Maris, Hobart, Barry Bader et al. just have WDIG on speed dial?

WDIG’s station manager seems vaguely aware that this whole kerfuffle is purely Marty’s and The Boy Who Would Be Coach’s doing, but as long as the ad revenue is coming in and he can keep shuffling those invoices, it’s all gravy.  Then again he may be waxing nostalgic about how he earned that trophy behind him for being the best Studebaker salesman in the Valley, or planning to order some Haggar slacks to go with that shawl-collared jacket of his while remembering how he used to hold meetings while he was on the can.

Meanwhile, in the Mudlark locker room, the real wheels get set in motion when rando underclassman asks rando seniors to dish the dirt on B/Robby.  Howry’s placebo-dealing, Bacon-manipulating backstory will be shared, rando underclassman will call Marty to expose B/Robby on air, WDIG’s engineer will again lose his mind, and Gil’s reputation will be saved without any action on his part.  This had better be good.

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