Gee, I didn’t know what HBP meant until Thorpiverse was gracious enough to spell it out for the ignorant masses like myself. The baseball cognoscenti really have it made in the shade. Thank you for enlightening us because I personally thought it stood for Hamm’s a Big Problem.
Now that I’ve used Primal Scream Therapy to shake all the sarcasm out of my person, what was the purpose of listing an interpretation of this term in the first place? Okay, yeah, there’s no doubt there is somebody who has no clue what HBP means. Well and good. But this is a SPORTS strip (sometimes in name only) and the vast majority who read it are knowledgeable about sports and HBP is a “See Spot Run” concept to them. And the people who don’t know, well, the computer has opened up a world of information, thanks mainly to the Internet. You can look it up, as the famous saying goes.
I appreciate the gesture as the explanation is one of convenience and will help SOMEBODY unfamiliar with the term. What makes it somewhat hard to swallow is the context surrounding it. You’re getting Romper Room explanations in plots more byzantine than all those rooms in Umberto Eco’s “The Name of the Rose”. Gil might appear out of room #538 in your friendly neighborhood cathedral with a Sesame Street book explaining logarithms. Okay, kiddies, this book has nothing to do with logs anymore than dogmatic has anything to do with dogs. Don’t get Galileo’s Dogma and Lassie confused.
Then there’s the bombastic narration that’s making this patronizing tripe even worse. I took the privilege to take baseball for granted???? Huhhhhhhh?????? I can decipher James Russell Lowell prose better than this piece of doggerel flashing across the screen. If I wanted Milford characters to wax poetic, I would have checked out plenty of Nathaniel Hawthorne novelettes at the Milford Library Bookmobile that stops in front of Milford Foundry every Tuesday. Do not go gently into my catcher’s mitt. Throw where last Mimi’s ailanthus tree by the garage door bloomed. Oh, this is out of the cradle slowly a crock, no question. Gil is singing a song of himself because he’s full of what I can’t spell and it rhymes with mitt. And it isn’t spit but like hand grenades and horseshoes, close enough.
Gang, bear with me, I just found out a few moments ago that my great-nephew and his 4 x 800 Relay team in High School Boys Track qualified for State. I am obviously one proud great-uncle. But you know what? I couldn’t have done it without the support you have given me over the years. YOU make it happen. It’s YOUR victory as well as mine. Without your encouragement and advice, This Week in Milford ceases to exist. YOU are the reason we are here. I NEVER take any of you for granted. God bless you all.
Frank’s contributions are NEVER taken for granted also, especially his take on Crankshaft. Talk about horsing around while Rome is burning. This week just cranks it up to another ludicrous notch. At the beginning of the week, he’s got to go to the bathroom but has nothing to read when sitting on the john. Okay, I get it, we’ve all been there. But HOW LONG is he going to debate this issue because by my count, he’s pissing in his boxers looking for a stray Reader’s Digest. Is he going to go full poop on Saturday, lacking even a Popular Mechanics to draw from?
“Oh no, we potty train our dogs. That’s not their urine. Ol’ Cranky didn’t receive his mail-order ESPN magazine in time. The postal station manager said the computers were down.”
Then I started thinking. You KNOW Gil isn’t immune from these situations. I have an evil streak in me. Heh heh HEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHH
“Mimi!!!!!!!! I have to take a dump badddddd!!!!!! Where’s my Sports Illustrated????”
“Did you check the laundry room????”
“Why the #%*^+ would I look there???? How’d they get there????”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. The cat pooped again and the kids didn’t change out the litter box because of the school play. And all the towels were in the wash.”
“That’s *+=#% swell!!!!! Now what am I going to do????”
“Here, my Better Homes & Garden has a lemon cake recipe written by Bob Knight. Enjoy.”
Today’s Headline in the Milford Enquirer
“Crankshaft Airlifted To Milford General After Tumultuous Event!!!!!!!”
sub headline
“Mr. Crankshaft lost his Mud Mountain Murphy program and started experiencing bowel movement complications on his way to the stall.”
Gang, you Thorpiversean veterans surely remember when the radio (usually) announcer’s comments would show up neatly in a nice caption box in a corner. Berrill was way ahead of his time. That’s why I laugh every daggone time I see the “Play-By-Play By Zeus” commentary bursting in on the action. Who’s giving the descriptions next week, Thor???? I remember the well-respected Tom Sowell once talking about the time he taught at Howard University and some student said that he couldn’t understand why he flunked the exam. He studied for two hours. Sowell said he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and proceeded to tell him that he spent two hours just prepping for lectures. Point well-taken. Anyway, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I see the caption balloon dangling from the panel edge. Like it’s hanging by a thread, anchored by the Goodyear Blimp. Is this another one of Charlie Brown’s kites that got tangled up by the foul pole? I can see it now
“Gil!!!!!! Get those Prince Valiant thought balloons away from Heehaw’s bed!!!! I’ll not have her watching him undress Mary Worth in his dreams!!!!”
Or
“Mr. Dr. Pearl!!!!!! Get your mind out of the gutter!!!!! My bridge club members can see what we do when we’re on vacation in our Winnebago!!!!!!”
Or
“Oh God, Francesca!!!!! Not when I’m eating my Chile con Arroz Sumergido en El Agua y La Cerveza!!!! Can’t you think about your surgery presentations another time?”
Who says this has to be confined to America?
“[Lim Tak-Shi!!!!!! He is just an exchange student!!!!! You can dream all you want of his pitching in Fenway but I paid for the textbooks, remember?]”
And last and certainly least, Coach Thorp, how many batters are you going to let Blind Man’s Rough plunk before you yank him for a pitcher that did get his eyes checked recently? No way did Coach Sparrow EVER go that far when some pitcher could find the batter’s helmets better than the strike zone when my nephew played ball. Lost pitchers and lost caption balloons, never a dull moment when Thorpiverse is on the mound.
At Milford FWA picnic grounds
“Mimi, I gotta pee pee bad!!!!!! Where’s the outhouse????”
“Gil, you’re out in Mother Nature. It’s one big toilet.”
“But I understand the outhouse has Penthouse next to the extra rolls of Bounty!!!!!!”
Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer
“Heehaw In Fair Condition!!!!!!!! Will Be Transferred Out Of ICU This Week!!!!!!!”
sub headline
“Milford Adult Care spokesperson: ‘She was obviously rattled when the hallway restroom lacked the necessary resources for perusing while relieving oneself. We put in a maintenance order for a magazine rack yesterday.’”
P2 is making absolutely no sense whatsoever. We went from knocking them on their butts in P1 to a bad Kodak Moment in the next panel. Let me assure you that when Coach Sparrow went out to the mound his first question wouldn’t have been “Was your dad a plagiarist? Because you’ve plunked half the lineup and you’re not finding the strike zone.” Then what would be the point of apologizing that your dad was Pretty Boy Floyd when your pitching is suckin’ pretty bad?
Again, no Coach worth his weight in Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage Breakfast Blend would allow his pitching staff to send the majority of the other team’s batters to Milford Minor Emergency Care Clinic because a couple of the pitchers were cousins of Stevie Wonder. Then continue this inanity by asking if his dad is running around on his mom? Oh, that’ll explain why your Valley Conference ERA ballooned in the month of May. Ward Cleaver had those urges for Aunt Bea and therefore Beaver suddenly sucks at throwing a curve to complement his fastball. That makes sense.
Well, you better get your act together because Luke Loser just went overseas to recruit a mega-talent who evidently has a dad who only drops his Haggars at night for the one to which he said “I do” at the Seoul Justice of the Peace. You can’t afford to let your hair down. Or your ethics. Don’t be Luke only without the fetid goatee.
Yes, I realize family problems can affect a kid’s game. But let’s not make this a ridiculous soap opera. There’s a kid carrying some excess baggage and then there’s the Bronx Zoo. At least, I HOPE George Steinbrenner didn’t get to be a millionaire plagiarizing Ellery Queen magazines.
At Dr. Pearl’s domicile
“Honey Britches Sugar Lumpee Lumps Bumpee Bumps Tricky Ricky Icky Sicky Stinky Fink Lilac Lover, have you seen the National Geographic’s? I have diarrhea in the worst possible manner that plagues all mankind.”
“Look under the Breeze towels in the closet.”
If ya refuse ta do Nature’s duty at the FWA spider-web-infested outhouse without a copy of Guns & Ammo that’ll retro at least back to 2016, ya might be a redneck.
P2 also slightly reminds me of a Night Gallery painting. “The Messiah on Mott Street” comes to mind. This kid lives with his grandfather (played by the great Edward G. Robinson) who is dying to the point where he has one foot in the grave. This kid runs into a congenial black man (played by Yaphet Kotto-“Mr. Big” in the James Bond classic “Live and Let Die”.) of whom he manages to bring back to this old man’s flat. Somehow, this man manages to summon a great wind and eventually the old man not only recovers extremely well, to the consternation of his doctor, but obtains solid financial footing thanks to a resettled old debt.
Were reality and fantasy to dance as adeptly in the world of Thorpiverse. But alas, reality got splatted like a bug by Jumpstart and fantasy went the way of Alfred Hitchcock’s monthly detective series that Crankshaft is currently reading after snaring it and still making it to the john before ol’ Cranky splatted all over the commode. I wouldn’t want Jumpstart using an old newspaper rag on Cranky’s crud.
Late Edition to the Milford Enquirer
“Milford Foundry And Local 814 Reaches Agreement!!!!! Contract Ratified, Ending Potential Strike!!!!!!!”
sub headline
“Reading material was the linchpin. Management agreed to foot the bill for bathroom amenities in addition to contributing an extra .25/years of service to pension fund.”
Now let me get this straight. According to P3, the moral of this story is to hope to God your kismet is not in the hands of a father who wrote like John Updike because he wrote John Updike so that you don’t wind up like Ray Charles as a result but if discretion is the better part of valor, pitch as if Dutch Rennert was behind home plate because he’s consistent and be thankful because this may be the last time Dutch umpires because he may get a stroke and share the same bedroom with Heehaw and you may go blind and crazy when Homer the Umpire calls the balls and strikes behind home plate and you may be pitching your last if he doesn’t call the corners. I don’t know about you, but Aesop couldn’t sum it up any better.
Oh, and read Our Daily Bread so that a tornado can come in and raise Heehaw from the dead. You can’t overlook any detail.
REX ALERT!!!!!!!! REX ALERT!!!!!!!!!
Fred & Wilma have departed from Glenwood Across The Universe Tourlines and are momentarily comforted that Jack the Ripper was not in their trunk after Jack escaped the brig. How he escaped is another ridiculous narration for another time, although witnesses could have sworn some stranger with a hoodie was on his knees pleading with Mud Mountain Murphy for pocket change to indulge in tomato soup and crackers at the Glenwood Cruise Snack Bar & Grille. Plus a life preserver in case he needed to jump from the ship again. Mud wasn’t going to give back his old songs but did have a Truck Tyler 5 x 8 available. Truck and Rex must be at the same casino because neither has emerged since Clinton balanced the budget.
Sources have alleged that Rex was hiding in the bushes near the backstop and learning how a blind man can teach high school athletes how to throw on a dime. Rex was seen taking notes, then leaving in the direction of The Bucket. No word if he pulled into the drive-in area. Anybody who notices a Glenwood vanity plate is asked to call the Milford Police Tipline immediately. Your call will be confidential.
“Doesn’t all this Rex-searching make you hungry? I was reading where Mud Mountain Murphy was considering getting a vasectomy and that just got the juices flowing in my salivary glands. I didn’t want to leave my refrigerator devoid of the finest sausage east of the Allegheny Mountains when poring over the surgical procedures necessary to tie ol’ Mud’s tubes. I’ll bet Tennessee Pride wouldn’t know the first thing to catering a smorgasbord when ol’ Mud goes under the knife.
Hello, this is Coach Thorp for Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. Sometimes we get bored and so the excitement of watching Fred & Wilma traveling on the Florida Turnpike and then turning in at the end of the day at a sleazy motel abutting an alligator pit just brings out the finest in our pork products. Just listening to that bacon sizzle and crackle while John Walsh talks about the supposed whereabouts of Dr. Rex in the same venue as the Foque Monster is a match made in Heaven. Believe me, Gil Thorp Italian Spiced Duodenum Sensitive Bacon Strips is the perfect cuisine along with your favorite Kool-Aid when the Glenwood Missing Persons Bureau personnel track the woods in their quest to flag down this enigma wrapped in some raccoon hides because he is tired of raising bratty little snots. Man, the aroma.
But that doesn’t mean that Fred & Wilma are on the run. They know how to slide their Visa card if they want to enjoy the benefits of the motel towels they’ll stuff in the trunk at check-out time. And kibbutzing all this paraphernalia when you are microwaving Gil Thorp Sage ‘n’ Nasty patties is a wonderful combination, like throwing pepperoni on onions when ordering Domino’s delivery. Wash it down with a Schlitz and watching Fred battle his manhood as he goes under the sheets with Wilma or the mice is a meal extravaganza.
And if you really want to be in total ecstasy, check out Truck trying to hit on Melba after he just ordered the omelet. Hey, I like watching Crankshaft utilize his gold digger he uses in his yard because he’s too cheap to use his pocket changer but it’s even more entertaining when Cranky is literally full of poop endeavoring to read Chairman Mao’s Red Book while wiping his extremities and chowing on some Gil Thorp Pure Artesian Water Mild Sausage with scrambled eggs, toast, and a Bud. I’d like to see Tennessee Pride try to top that life-learning lesson. They can’t. They’re too busy coughing up enough to tip Melba at The Diner. I bet Truck Tyler is their accountant.
Folks, when you want the finest in sausage, you know where to go when you grow up. You can lick up the pieces Tennessee Pride loses when loading the box truck or you can score a winner with Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. I can tell you, we never received a citation for littering. Come pick ip a package today and see why. Your taste buds will be grateful and so will you.”
Gang, Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know which one is going to buzz by you when you’re blindfolded. I don’t know, I never wanted to find out.
God bless you anyway, Gang.
In the faculty lounge restroom
“Who brought all these Encyclopedia Brittanicas in here? There’s a bunch stacked by the hand blower.”
“Couldn’t be Kaz. He left a few months ago.”
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This Week in Milford 