This Week in Milford

August 31, 2020

Awestruck Freshman Theater

Filed under: Chunky Bracelets, Fontastic, Steve Luhm's Ghost Mops These Floors — nedryerson @ 6:06 am

Orientation day for new students means we are definitely exiting Summer and going into Fall, but we’re sticking with Corina as the focal point for now. This follows the True Standish model where True ate at the diner and had cokes with Gil all summer before deciding to go to school in Milford. (Does anybody remember True’s mother’s mental health coming up at all then? I’m sure Maureen wasn’t shown but maybe she was working her magic behind the scene.)

Awestruck freshman are waiting in a line to get sheets of paper. Panel 2’s faces are struck with awe over the fancy WELCOME TO MILFORD HIGH banner and the shiny, shiny floor. Awestruck boy wants to touch awestruck girl’s hair. Should I do it? Maybe I’m too old to do that? Do girls like that? Oh boy, I’m so awestruck I think I need to throw up!

In comes Corina, who is the opposite of awestruck. She’s without awe. A welcoming committee greets her and she is not in awe of them. Who are they? They are there for orientation but they knew Corina was coming? Maybe they are just awestruck freshman who were at the social event of the summer, the big baseball game/food truck rally where Corina Karenna’s name was suddenly on everybody’s lips. Maybe there’s already an anti-Corina faction and these two are representatives?

Keep in mind that softball won’t start until spring, so Corina’s got a whole semester to navigate MHS before her ascendancy as queen of softball (which will happen in eight to twelve scattered throwaway panels).

June 9, 2020

Gee, I Wish This Ended.

Filed under: baseball, Fontastic, Gil Thorp, Walking and Talking — tdrewhardin @ 2:35 am

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The plot that won’t stay dead. You can stab it with your butcher knife but you just can’t kill The Beast.

And what makes it worse is that this really wouldn’t happen in the real world, reluctant as I am to say this. This feel-good, no-hard-feelings moment is good Hollywood or Thorpiverse or both that makes for good theater that gets introduced by that lion roaring its head off but no high school athletic association would really sanction this, at least not this late in the season. 2 months ago, The Mayor was playing ball for Milford High School; now he’s been banished to Valley Alternative and not playing for any high school-sanctioned team that we’re aware of. Suddenly, out of the blue, we’re going to conjure up a game that has the blessing of any high school athletic association accompanied by the insurance as a manifestation of that blessing? And we still gotta sign the contracts for the umpires? Good luck.

And I’m not saying pick-up games are out of the question but if we’re really trying to do justice and create a MAIN EVENT atmosphere in this, we might as well see if The Mayor left his spoon in his locker too. He liked to eat his Wheaties when he wasn’t threatening Gil or Kenny Rogers with his butter knife.

And I could still be in this “It can happen” mode anyway if the circumstances leading up to this moment weren’t so daggone ludicrous. The Mayor, questionable as his eating habits were, was expelled on laughable charges, Gil and Kenny rationalized the plot away and we’ve not seen Kenny since he left Milford with Dolly to start another Dollywood in New Thayer, and then we still have Dr. Pearl out on the loose. What the Hell happened to Granny Clampett? Throw students out on the streets, then take your dentures and go home? Just be sure those blueberry pie stains don’t show when you return to the fold, Granny.

Oh, well, as Bob Knight once said, if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it. Have your scorecard handy for this one. Some of the faces on the Valley Alternative are new because it was only yesterday they got caught shipping cocaine over the state line. Should have kept the door in the back of the furniture truck shut. Then the Milford Police would have to go get a warrant. You could flush it all down the sewer line in the meantime.

Well, while we’re waiting for the National Anthem, here’s something from Ernest Goes to Camp

 

Gee, I wish this ended

There’s always some dumb crapshow ’round the curve

I’m awfully mad it’s in suspension

Cuz we all know this bad crapshoot, we don’t deserve

 

And no one knows the thunder is our groaning in disguise

All those clouds running past the field is the rolling of our eyes

 

Gang, I was really intrigued by the country of Monaco, a teeny tiny monarchy surrounded by France on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. It actually had pizza delivery a la Domino’s Pizza delivery. Hmmmmm. Wondering how they managed to engineer deliveries to nearby countries

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. In Dispute With Papa John’s Pizza Over Latest Misunderstanding!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Why did they have to go through Customs to deliver 20 pepperoni’s? My ‘Switzerland Welcomes Back O.J.’ event was just over the border in Geneva. Did they send the hounds to sniff through every box?”

 

 

Ernest rallies the Second Chancers at Camp Kikakee

“…Boys, we’re gonna beat them Mudlarks at their own game!!!!!!!!! Of course, we might have to jack a few jaws and pass out a couple of knuckle sandwiches, but as soon as the field gets cleared by the Milford Health Department, we’ll give them ‘Larks a serious ass-whuppin’!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Second Chancers dance in a frenzy. Until one of them notices something peculiar.

“Ernest, what are you doing with Coach Thorp’s Visa?”

“Fellas, I need to get some batting equipment and uniforms at Milford Sporting Goods if we’re gonna do any jaw-jackin’ or knuckle-sandwich-distributin’!!!!!!!!!!!!! You think I can afford equipment driving kids around all day in the camp bus for a livin’?”

 

 

“I don’t think this is gonna fly, Gil. A kid gets injured, the State Athletic Association’s got The Shark bangin’ down its door in a lawsuit. Now if you’d told me ahead of time, we coulda worked something out. Hot damn!!!!!!!!!!! Bucket Pile o’ Pancakes are HOW MUCH???????”

“Easy, Commisioner. The school is picking up the tab.”

 

And while we’re getting suited up to take on Ernest and his Second Chancers, taking the Cyrillic entrance because the Roman Alphabet doors were changing their hinges, we evidently are in for an interesting contest. Since Milford Foundry also wants the field because it contains petrocide, a valuable mineral that will light up Milford in the next 10 centuries, the game carries that much more weight. Of course, you have to have a cleanup campaign sponsered by Milford United Way. SOMEBODY’S got to pick up the rubber tires and trashed Christmas trees and junked pickup trucks and beer bottles if you want to pull this off. Gil should have known better when he ditched his Chevy that he drove in high school when he was cruising the streets of Milford as a teenager. Sure, nobody from the Milford Police knows who abandoned the vehicle on the 3rd base side but actions have consequences, Gil. When you trashed your vehicle because you couldn’t pick up any more women in a rusty-bolted contraption because you were no longer a teenager and your precipice hairline could only extend its sex appeal for so long, you still should have said to yourself “Damn, we might have a game under the table in 60 years.” At least, that’s what I would have thought at 3AM and no one’s watching me leave that Chevy with the rest of the chewing gum wrappers on the infield and I’m displaying a now-tepid hairdo. Can’t go back now, Gil.

And our Babe Ruth League shared with our local Parks & Recreation Softball League for usage of our diamond. It was initially a temporary measure to accommodate the overflow of softball teams that the P & R was enduring. Sure, we said, just as long as we can play our games, you can use it. Trouble was, it was getting overused and the field was in horrible shape by the time we got ready to play. Our League President mercifully engineered it back in our sole possession.

But unfortunately, that’s pretty much the case here. For all we know, the way it is being described in P1, there’s potholes aplenty to accompany the roach-infested pile of garbage that will make stretching a single into a double or pulling off that unassisted double play a tad difficult. But Chris and ‘watha, don’t let me stop you. It’s all for a good cause.

 

Mr. Krader and his lawyer show up at the diamond one day

“Why do they need this field? We could have profits run through the roof if I could get my man to run a bulldozer on this worthless piece of grass.”

“Sir, Ernest and the Second Chancers are really fired up about playing Milford. Ernest wants to coach with Gil and this game would give him a lot of exposure.”

“He’d risk his team using a bag of cow manure for 2nd base just so he can learn not to take charge like Gil? Shoot, Let’s bulldoze that other worthless piece of wood first, then let’s run over this ground with the Drott this afternoon.”

“Mr. Krader, I keep telling you. I don’t think there’s any petrocite under the Mudlark gym. I can only hold off the EPA for so long before we get into a nasty legal battle.”

 

One late night at the Kingdom of Monaco Domino’s

BBBBRRRRRRRRRIIIINNNGGGGGG

BBBBRRRRRRRRRIIIINNNGGGGGG

BBBBRRR-

“Thank you for calling Domino’s Pizza, how may I help you?”

Gil is able to negotiate through the heavy French accent the way he dodged the District Board and called his own shots without formal training in School Administration and threw out The Mayor so that The Mayor wound up being the team captain of the Second Chancers

“Uh, yeah, do you deliver to the Barcelona Motel 6?”

“Non, Monsiuer, Spain is just out of our delivery area.”

“I understand. Keri and Jaime, let’s try calling the Domino’s in Marseilles.”

 

And what better way to spice up this nowhere plot than to have Mr. Krader’s son play for the Mudlarks like he is in P2?  I not only don’t want to play this game, I really don’t want Ernest on the sideline in fall next to Kaz at the football game. Coach Shaw may go in and out but when he’s IN, he does do some good coaching. So what if he plays “Love Me, Love Me, Say That You Love Me” on his Jazz guitar at Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club? If I can score touchdowns thanks to his play-calling, I’ll accompany him on my tonette I played at Milford Elementary “This Is My Country” recital. Ernest is like Gil, Vern, they both not only have the tackiest tops to grace their heads but when it comes to leadership, you might want to call Krader Industries to dynamite out of the ground. At least the petrocite will make a beacon for Milford so the airplanes can track down the runway at Milford Regional.

 

Mr. Krader and his lawyer at the parking lot at The Bucket

“…Mr. Krader, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense!!!!! The potential is there!!!!!!!! If they can make excellent Bucket Burgers, why can’t they make an excellent conduit so thaat we can mine the petrocite on their property. Why, with all the electricity, we can light up Milford and make it another Vegas. Sin Capital of the world that’s not in a desert. They’ll be coming in from all over the Valley Conference. I’ll call my foremen and have the backhoes, bulldozers, and cranes by this afternoon.”

“Mr. Krader, can I get a Bucket Banana Split first?”

“Didn’t you just eat????? It’s only been an hour!!!!!!!”

“Sir, your appetite would be shaky too if you had to look at a Mudlark cafeteria lady wearing her hair net backwards while serving Mulligan’s stew.”

 

An FYI, BTW. Mr. Krader’s lawyer in Ernest Goes to Camp was an actor who was also the son of Tennessee Ernie Ford.

 

I surely wish this ended

The inane rhythm intensifies the crud

I verily hope it’s not extended

A wounded warrior looks bad draped with mud

 

We thought we had found meaning in a tall tale that has no friends

What we wanted was a hero, what we got back had no defense

 

 

“Gil, that’s the last of the weeds. What are going to do with all these weeds?”

“Hey, I know. I’ll just dump them on that field across town. Softball and baseball need infield grass anyway. I’ll set my alarm for 2AM.”

 

That makes sense. More stupid is better than less stupid. Heck, the more stupid, the more fun we’re going to have taking on Ernest and his Gang of Losers. And as long as we don’t lose to these losers, this ought to be Disneyland by the final out. We wouldn’t want to hear how we got beat on a bang-bang play that could have gone either way by Ernest for a year. He’ll be in Dr. Pearl’s office begging to be a coach when he’s not genuflecting to be a counselor.

“Ernest, I give you a simple task to deliver my Baseball Field Upkeep Report-Re: Lawn Recertification-2014 file to the Milford School Corporation building downtown and you drive a Peterbilt 389 Tri Axle in Gil’s house. You about scared their kids when they were in the tub. I don’t see how you’ll ever be a coach, am I right, Gil?”

“Totally agree, Dr. Pearl. He’s just not coaching material. He could have at least not taken responsibilty when Mimi came out of the bedroom butt-naked. Then we’d be in my office negotiating.”

 

 

If ya play softball in the Ma-jer Mod-ee-fied Dee-vizh-un on a field with a buncha tow trucks that are parked in centerfield, half of ’em won’t start and ya gotta make liberal use of an-uther tow truck if ya wanna be pitchin’ nd hittin’ the Red Dot’s, ya might be a redneck.

 

I also observed that the Country of Monaco has a Sexy Taco eatery within the borders. With that in mind

 

At the Hotel de Paris-Monte Carlo, Marty and Peaches are in a room where you can see the Mediterranean Sea and Dr. Pearl’s garage. The night belongs to lovers

“Boy, what a way to spend my stakeholder’s check from my place of employment. WDIG can be pretty damn generous when you prove to be a loyal employee. Drink up, Peaches. I paid $187.23 for the fresh strawberries and Perpignon Chablis et Merlot dans le Vallee de Lyon-Decaf. Don’t you dare waste a drop. I can always drop my pants at a later date.”

“Oh, Marty, you say the dirtiest things. I will savor the cherries and the kumquats too because I know you paid extra. You even tipped the bell boy $100 when he added Bosc pears to the Chevaux de Mer Vin et L’eau. You didn’t have to do this for little ol’ me.”

“I spared no expense. I can always cash another stakeholder’s check au demain at le Banc de la France and get a generous currency exchange if il Banco dell’Italia isn’t open because they’re celebrating la morte del fascismo because they’re glad il duce croaked. And tonight, after I’ve had my way with you, I can order some chimichangas we can dig into without removing the sheets by phoning in the order at Sexy Tacos Unlimited. They come right to your bed and I can tip them with a twenty, a spare bucket of wine, and some Gala apples.”

“Marty, that’s enough!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m getting hotter than the helicopter that flies onto the Monte-Carlo heliport!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let’s dance!!!!!!!!!!”

“You pressed the right button, Woman!!!!!!!!!”

Peaches notices that Marty needs more ice to chill what hasn’t been hardened since Sexy Tacos Unlimited opened for business when free trade came to Europe

“Marty, I think you better call room service again. You might have to pay $353.45 for a pill out of the EREC-3T00 box but it’s better than getting a burned chipotle tamale from Sexy Tacos Unlimited. I don’t want you to use another stakeholder’s check to pay for the damaged bedsheets.”

“Peaches, I am harder than a wine bottle. Can’t you pretend you are getting violated by Ernest Gallo?”

“I bet he had a pin oak log between his legs that we could add to the fireplace in the room. That and some Wrigley’s cost $231.76. But if I want to get violated by some Spearmint, I’ll just spend my life savings on the whole pack of gum, not try to get ecstasy from it.”

“Peaches, I’ll buy some Filet Mignon avec Pommes de Terre Au Gratin avec Torte de Orange Petites dans L’Immersion de Creme Fraise if you’ll reconsider. I only have to spend $542.01 after my flight discount. Milford Travel Agency worked in my best interests.”

“Even if I partake of fine French cuisine and eat the Florida oranges, we’re still going to the gaming tables tomorrow. You wanna lie and tell the tourists you had sex because you bribed me with a Chipped Quesadilla you paid the delivery guy from Sexy Tacos Unlimited with a Milford Federal Travelers Cheque? What if they put 2 and 2 together and come up with $373.68?”

 

“She had me there. I paid $498.54 at Monte-Carlo Rent-a-Car and beelined down to the apothecary in Genoa, Italia where Milford Men’s Clinic EREC-3T00 was sold OTC. Thank God I wasn’t charged by the mile. I got up and up and we just went to town each night. Sexy Tacos Unlimited did more business with us than with their drive-thru. I bet nobody forked over $211.65 for a taco at the window. I’d shift my gears out of the drive-thru also. Come get your own Steak Fajita and not lose an arm or or your IRA in the process. Only at Milford Men’s Clinic.

 

Gang, I still think Ernest and the Second Chancers might pull an upset. In the meantime, God bless you all.

 

“Mr. Krader, you can’t win this. Even though the Second Chancers lost, 73-0, Ernest got accepted to the coaching staff at Milford High School. And Milford Pest Control exterminated all the roaches and mice. No more rats under home plate. Let’s cut our losses on this plot and invest in oil. Prices are going back up.”

“Ahhhhhhh, Ballard’ll resurface anyway and nail Ernest on that sexual escapade in the men’s room at Milford Lounge and he won’t have to hack into the School Board computer. Let’s get out of here.”

 

 

Somewhere in Europe

“Gil, they won’t deliver to Liechtenstein. Duties are too expensive. Did you call Pizza Hut?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 18, 2019

Marty Uses Dr. Frazier Crane’s Catchphrase

Filed under: Fontastic, Marty Moon, Pissy faced Chet Ballard — nedryerson @ 8:24 am

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So this is going where we kinda thought it was going. Chet Ballard’s anonymous tip to The Milford Star went nowhere, so he’s taking his grievances down to the lower levels of the Milford media landscape. Hello, Marty Moon.

Let’s start with the best part of this development: We’re introduced to a new drinking establishment somewhere in the Milford area. It’s The Anchor Bar (or maybe it’s The Anchor Bap or even The Anchor Bop). It’s a classy place where a classy guy like Chet Ballard can drink a bottle of beer. It also has a big sign…maybe, that second panel is just confusing, geometrically speaking.

So Chet appears to be easing into his airing of grievances, mixing in his general displeasure with Gil’s coaching results (“He never wins the big games”) with a ginned up version of Sam Finn’s trip to the ER. (Sam collapsed because a virus was spreading around at home…or that’s what Gil would have us believe wink wink).

We’ll wait and see how Marty reacts to any of this. We’ll also wait to see how Chet broaches the subject of Chance Macy’s checkered past as well as how Marty reacts

Until this develops, I’ll just hang out here at The Anchor Bar and have a Negroni and a scotch egg. What’re you guys havin’?

April 29, 2019

What’s The Deal With Linda?

Filed under: Boredom in Milford, Fontastic, Just plain sad, Prairie Style Windows — nedryerson @ 6:16 am

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David and Linda started a conversation at The Bucket last week. The conversation continued on the phone over the weekend and now here we are at Milford High School picking up where we left off.

David is summoned via text (he has installed a customized font package on his phone’s messaging app) to meet Linda in the Media Center. I’d like to point out that the Milford High School still has actual books on shelves and subscribes to at least one print periodical. I’m going to assume that the copy of SPIN that Linda is reading is part of the Media Center’s collection. Would anybody buy their own copy of SPIN these days? Can you buy a copy of SPIN these days? (The answer to that question is no. SPIN has been online only since 2012.) Maybe the Milford High School Media Center is as frozen in time as many other aspects of MHS and Linda is currently leafing through the March 1989 of SPIN magazine, which features a cover story on Edie Brickell and New Bohemians.

With all the curious details out of the way, I now barely have the energy to untangle the main point. What is the deal with Linda? She was fired up about her teammates missing the scrimmage because they had other commitments. Her steady beau, David Walter, pointed out her hypocrisy since she has her own other commitments. She rankled at this, but they moved on.

Since then, all of the other commitments her teammates have been put under a microscope and evaluated for their uniqueness, or too cool for schoolness and this somehow led to the introduction of a stuffed rally hippo. This has somehow led Linda to again question her own too cool for schoolness and feel inadequate because her volleyball scholarship doesn’t measure up. She’s wondering if she’s just not that into volleyball anymore. Geez, what a predicament.

Well Linda, if you don’t want to listen to David’s straight advice, take a tip from Edie Brickell (by way of Popeye the Sailor Man): “What I am is what I am, you what you are or what?” That means do volleyball if you want or don’t do it if you don’t. I think, or at least that’s the “talk on the cereal box”.

spin.PNG

Have any members of New Bohemians ever been heard from since then?

Edited to add, in response to Tim, that SPIN featured KISS on their cover several years later (August 1996)…Looks like one of those four covers, collect them all!! type deals.

CaptureKSS

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 7, 2019

Who’s Robby? Wait, Who’s Gil Thob?

Filed under: Coach Kaz, Fontastic, Kelly Krystek — nedryerson @ 7:03 am

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We pick up our story with Kelly Krystek, intrepid travel agent on her way to drop off Mrs. Kapoor’s travel related items, stopped by the side of the road to take in the latest provocative billboard outside Milford. The message on the billboard is so jarring she has to get out of her Toyota Tardis and stare up at in in wonder from the shoulder. Her head bobbling awe is reminiscent of Steve Martin in L.A. Story:

lastory11

Kelly communicates this incredible outdoor advertising development to her beau, Coach Kaz. Kaz is visibly shaken by this new message, or maybe he’s not moved at all and just thinking about pumping iron, getting a sandwich or just avoiding another dopey assignment from Gil to go snooping around in the affairs of a student athlete.

So we have the big reveal of billboard #3 (in a bold new font that I don’t have time to identify right now): SAVE THE KIDS FIRE GIL THORP robbyreport.com. Oh boy. Now to find out who Robby is and what his report entails.

At the moment, the domain robbyreport.com is available for purchase, so any enterprising individual who wants to get a little bit of exposure can register that domain and link it to whatever content they want to be seen by up to dozens of bored Gil Thorp readers. (You may recall a previous website that was named in Gil Thorp, liniverde.com. Jason bought that domain and redirected it to this very blog [since lapsed]. I’d do that with the robbyreport.com, but that would require effort that I’m unwilling to exert.)

This fictitious website concept reminds me of a development from the Aughts (do we have another name for the first decade of this century?) where Conan O’Brien threw out an offhand reference to hornymanatee.com on his old NBC late night show. Subsequently, he stated that NBC’s legal department required the show to acquire that domain (which they did and then proceeded to use it to host wacky content). It makes sense for a big television network to take that step, lest somebody else register the domain and host something with which the network would rather not be associated. Also, in “those days” there was still some fun to be had about the internet and its geeky structure and we could still laugh at it rather than be largely bored and/or disgusted with it.

Clearly, the producers of the Gil Thorp comic strip don’t care about someone purchasing robbyreport.com and posting something weird on it. Like maybe a blog about how Kelly Krystek’s little hatchback has the interior of a Landcruiser or something. Oh, now wouldn’t that just be embarrassing! Surely, but for who?

ETA: The Comics Curmudgeon came up with a hilarious take on today’s strip, focusing on the vague wording of the latest billboard and how the message very easily be misconstrued as something VERY dark. That never dawned on me. That’s why he’s the most famous comics blogger!

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.

May 30, 2018

Making Things Worse

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I’m struggling to grasp anyone’s motivations here other than, perhaps, Ma Bader’s. Well, I suppose Barry’s motivation is that he’s a hot headed moron* with self esteem issues but that doesn’t make for the most compelling protagonist. At least not as written here…

Bonus points:

P1: Ah, the rare ANDS brand laptop, disfavored by Milford teens who prefer |||| brand computers. I’ll leave speculation as to the nature of the mysterious foreground display to our wonderful commenters.

P2: I’m digging the Bader’s mismatched chairs at their tiny kitchen table underneath the chandelier they stole from a TGI Friday’s. Also, Steve Luhm has clearly been moonlighting.

P3: I’m sure I’ve floated some truly idiotic ideas in front of my mom over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever given her occasion to give me such an exaggerated (and presumably genuine) stinkeye.

* Seriously, ‘enoblers’?

Metapost: As this year’s Memorial Day celebrations recede into memory, please bear in mind the veterans who surely number amongst this count.

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