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.
This strip starts off pretty cool with Gil dramatically framed by the doorway and Max Bacon stepping out of a shadow with heavy words: I want to tell everyone why they can’t trust Bobby Howry.
So yeah, Max was manipulated by Bobby as an experiment and then to impress a girl. (Those were Gil’s words.) You don’t want to trust a guy like that. But Max badgered Bobby for the fake adderall! He got dismissed from the team! Let’s relive the drama, we’ve got nothing else going on here.
I had forgotten about the Leisl aspect of the Bobby Howry story. Leisl thought Bobby was boring because he was so “mono-focused” on basketball. So Bobby thought he could impress Lesil by being able to predict how well Max was going to perform on the court. Well, Leisl was all ears! She even reported to her own basketball teammates that Bobby could predict how well Max was going to play. The word got around on the girls team and Mimi even caught wind of this new dimension to Bobby Howry. Bobby was a hot topic! Then Mimi clued Gil in on the happenings on his team. That’s classic Gil Thorp, friends.
So, Max is back. At first he didn’t seem to care and Gil told him to go check out the Robby billboards, but don’t do anything! This installment shows Max coming in a little hotter in that moody opening panel. But ultimately, Gil’s wise counsel is to leave it alone. Everything works out here. It always does. Back to State U with you, Maxwell Bacon and get crackin’ on those résumés.
What a day to get back in the saddle of posting about what’s going on in Gil Thorp’s world… In lieu of any meaningful plot development let’s do a quick take panel by panel.
P1: Seriously, just ignore these two with their weird posturing. Did anyone else know that Gil has not one but two desks in his office? Say what you will about our pocket hockey playing hero, but you gotta tip your hat to the fact that he rates a huge office.
P2: It warms my heart to see Maxwell instantly disavow helping Gil as his motive for returning to this tanktown. That he does it while flashing a double inverted Vulcan salute and wearing a sailor’s turtleneck gilds the Lily.
P3: Maxwell is gonna be pissed when he goes from one end of town to the other only to see that the billboards both have the same message. Also, why would Gil encourage Maxwell to go check out the billboards but then discourage him from getting involved? Pretty mixed message there.
Its a bird its a plane its…. Maxwell Bacon??? Huh? Oh yeah. December 2014…
..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.
I’m having this nightmare of giant snakes attacking me in the Gobi Desert while being trapped in that giant scorpion chair that Vulnavia pushed me into while Dr. Phibes goes to Gil’s house and kidnaps Mimi and sticks her in a mummy case in his hideout behind the Milford 24-Hour Coin Laundromat (what other laundromats are there?-I’ve yet to see one that had changers giving wooden nickels or Canadian quarters or 3-dollar bills or buffalo bones that the Kiowa used in transactions, any of those for your 20) , my being surrounded by scorpions and tarantulas, helpless to do anything because I’m confined to that seat, all the while observing Robby going door-to-door selling Electrolux Vacuum Cleaners to finance his billboard addiction.
“Ah, Vic-TOR-ia, I shall return to your loving and amorous presence as soon as I dispose of this incompetent and foolish churl. Enjoy your Journey into Never Never Land in the interim. You’ll find treasure if you stay there. And me too, I hope.”
Using mental telepathy at high voltage
“Yesssss?”
Taken aback that Phibes doesn’t move his mouth when speaking, R/Bobby trudges on
“Hi, I represent the Electrolux Vaccum Cleaner Company. Here’s my card. Uh, Can I come in?”
Sure, Booby, just come on into the Pits of Hell where Phibes is shish-kabobing a victim who dared harm Vic-TOR-ia and make yourself at home. Sorry the place is a mess. I’ll have Vulnavia use a Swiffer on all the blood stains on the tile floor. And that skeleton on the Broyhill dining room table? Well, she was an anorexic. Vulnavia couldn’t coax her to eat a Pudding Pop.
“You’ll love these hose attachments, it’ll pick up all those dead locusts on your floor, Man, you got a ton of ’em, some on the China cabinet, and even in the vegetable compartment in your fridge, you might need an extra vacuum bag…”
I wake up, coming to my senses. I realize it was just a bad dream, that the vacuum noise was a street sweeper passing by.
But just in case my nightmares overlap into reality and I see my next-door neighbor cleaning out his Volvo and sucking all the cigarette butts and chewing gum and stale Chee-tos with an Electrolux, extension cord thrown in as an added bonus, you could run the gamut of choices, Tom Thumb, James K. Polk, Booby Doody (nice one, Teench) , Ethyl from “I Love Lucy”, Herb Woodley, Dagwood’s next-door neighbor, and Mother Theresa, and I believe you can narrow down the list of candidates very quickly. James K. Polk didn’t have the luxury of electricity and P.T. Barnum, Tom Thumb’s protege, sold circuses door-to-door, not vacuum cleaners. There might have been a sell after the elephant act, flunkies scoopin’ up the elephant poop while somebody is shouting from a megaphone “It slices, it dices, it sucks up popcorn and Julienne fries in a nanosecond…”, but aaaaaaaa, kinda sorta doubt it. So R/Booby is our culprit Electrolux salesman.
And now R/Bobby is living to tell about it on The Sleazy Hour w/ Marty Moon. Thank God Booby had an extra wide-scoop dustpan attachment to corral all the dead scorpions on the VCR in the den or Booby might have been victimized by Phibes’ Deluxe Head Decapitator in the Maytag dishwasher. And Booby is practically saying Gil should give up coaching and sell vacuum cleaners himself. And as long as we’re going to get RIDICULOUS about this, what with a guy who still hasn’t confirmed how he’s financing these billboard deals and really has no business on a radio show criticizing a coach and saying he needs to resign when he was only the equipment manager, I might as well go all the way with this.
“So you’re saying he never moved his mouth when he was calling time outs?”
“I am.”
“How could he communicate with his players? Did he use a cue card?”
“Nooooo, he kinda spoke as if he was using mental telepathy. Like somebody sewed his mouth shut so the only other way was to hold a can at one end and shout out the back door play through the hanger wire to the cup at the other end through his nostrils. Good thing he used Vic’s Nasal Spray or Luhm’d have some heavy poop to sweep up tonight. And don’t even talk about buffering.”
“What did he say?”
“He threatened to dunk their heads in an aquarium of piranhas and use their bodies for mannequins at the Milford House of Horrors if they coughed up another late lead and disappoint my dear Vic-TOR-ia who’s been waiting centuries to awaken and be part of the State Champ photo with the basketball team.”
“And I understand tarantulas were coming out of his scalp?”
“Right. Some heckler in Section B said he COACHES like Dr. Phibes and only Phibes’ organ-playing is worse than his play-calling. Vulnavia positioned a cement chute in the heckler’s direction and the tarantulas had a feast on the heckler and his 2 Baby Ruth bars.”
And wasn’t Tod Andrews in charge of the Oakwood team(s)? Billytheskink, correct me if I’m wrong and you do excellent work on the subject so if you know, by all means, clear the record. I admit I’m getting senile(ha).
RIGHT NOW, Lou Grant has come out of retirement and is pursuing a second career after taking night classes at Milford Community College. I reckon he skipped the infomercial on WDIG-TV at 3:00AM in the morning, the one where Bodies by Jake had a special promo “Yes, you too can be a coach.” And when you order now, you’ll get the 2-ton Nautilus equipment sent to your door plus a 2,354 page booklet “Kevin Loughery: ‘How I Coached Great Players On My Next Team After I Got Fired From My 3rd Team'” Classic reading. Is there a foreword by Bob Knight?
Hank Finkel (or Chuck Nevitt or Don Noort-last one, courtesy Indiana Basketball) : “Coach, I’m ready as a 12th man if you need me. I know you’ve blown some games because there was no one to send in when you were ahead by 61 with a minute to go, so I’m available.”
“SURE. We have an empty seat at the end of the bench. I put Chuck D’Alosio (ditto IU) on the DL.”
Isn’t “disappointing loss” a redundancy? What loss is ENCOURAGING? I’ve been a high school booster/coach and a college booster for ages and have never experienced a loss that WASN’T disappointing.
Then when we’re subjected to giga-second photo shoots of basketball action on one end of the court and Gil-thrashing by Marty and Booby on the other end, no wonder why tip-offs are a bit tricky. Talk about lack of action and making no desire to penetrate in the frontcourt. Only the 4-corner stall implented by Dean Smith is less entertaining. But at least THAT won games. No wonder why we have to have a shot clock.
“…shot clock down to 7, Gil is rambling and rambling, Reggie wanting to shoot, shot clock down to 4, Booby is using a crane to erect another billboard that says “Gil has serious crack when he kneels to design a play”, shot clock down to 2, Reggie is begging for the ball and trying to get Kaz to quit trying to remove his earrings, ANNNNDDDDD the shot clock expires and the Pacers will turn it over, down 6 to the Bucks, 2:37 left in the 3rd Quarter…”
“There’s absolutely no reason for that, Mark, absolutely no reason.”
“I agree, Slick, you just don’t leave Reggie that wide open, especially with Robinson laying off…”
Going back to P1, the players, if you really want to liberally interpret the word, are displaying some interesting stances. Is the Oakwood player in the upper panel doing the River Dance? I knew it was a craze or at least the commercial during Bugs Bunny & Pals said so. Sure helped with his footwork on defense. Glory Thanks to Jesus he wasn’t doing the Funky Chicken or Milford Might have made it a cakewalk.
And that’s either a Smurf or The Hunchback of Notre Dame in the lower corner that missed his defensive assignment. Help defense does wonders, Hunch.
One day, a visitor drops into Gil’s office.
“Hey, Coach, I understand you’re short-handed, especially on the interior. Need me to suit up?”
“Pulver, you graduated in the ’70’s. How am I going to slip that one past the other coach, let alone the officials?”
“The same way you’d slip the Coach’s union card you’ve had since ’58. And I can douse my head in a bucket of Grecian Formula.
Today’s Black History entry is actually 2 people, Booker T. Washington and William Edgar Burgard DuBois. They were on two sides of a coin, Washington espousing learning a trade for the black man to better himself, especially through his school, the Tuskeegee Institute, and Dubois, the first black man to earn a Ph.D at Harvard, who felt that a black man should better himself through the Liberal Arts. I’m not prepared to delve into either side but both men were VERY INFLUENTIAL in the lives of blacks and therefore I ask that you join me in saluting them for their significant contributions.
And, OF COURSE, Lou, he’ll turn it around. You’ve been looking up Mary Tyler Moore’s butt one too many times, that’s your problem when you’re not running a newspaper when you’re not coaching the team. What do you think Gil’s going to do after 60+ years, RETIRE???????? Wash your mouth out with Irish Spring. And head to a Florida condo? Go sit in the corner. As incompetent as Gil is, Coach Kleats ain’t gonna take his place and take the baton and continue to run the team and/or plots in the ground. You and Ted Knight, sheesh.
And what would he do? Play shuffleboard? Strive to be the Bocce king? I’m sure he’s been practicing in his office for the appointed time. Equipment’s right behind the golf bag. Oops, that reminds me. Since he golfs, he’d be on thecourse 24/7.
The St. Lucie Police shining a floodlight on Hole #7, dog leg right, par 5 and speaking through the loudspeaker
“May I ask your business?”
“Not now. Gotta do a ball drop.”
Air Jordan walks through the hallways, signing 1,946,738 autographs, including posing with the cafeteria ladies and with Dr. Pearl, Doctorate proudly behind her, eventually winding up in Gil’s office.
“Coach, if you need me to come out of retirement, I’m available. And Pippen’s in the limo.”
P3-“Not now, I’m in the middle of Ultimate Chess. I’m workin’ on my endgame. My rook got sliced in pieces but I still got another one, plus my one and only pawn is 2 squares away from queening. Mate City.”
And only in Thorpiverse do the background mutated pine trees kibbutz the match. Move your bishop and protect your queen, Thorp. Shut up, fellow mutated pine tree, I’d move his knight. He’s got an easy fork. Rook’s a dead man.
“And there’s a time out on the floor as the towel boy is wiping up all the locust poop, with the score, Milford, 67, Oakwood, 62, with a minute to go. We’ll see if Phibes can pull this one out.”
Because I’m unclear on what a blood flow massage or stimulator is on these ED commercials
Gil, pulling down his Valentine’s Day boxers that Mimi had air-mailed this morning
“How does it feel?”
“Aaaaaaaaaaa, a bit snug. I need circulation but don’t lop the damn thing off. I need to piss, y’know.”
“Sorry, Gil. They do stretch in time. You might get a little woozy walking down the stairs but you’ll get comfortable in a day or two. Leather stretches that way.”
“Can I try something one size smaller? I usually wear a 12 but I’ll go 11 even if it’s a bit loose.”
“Absolutely, Gil. And I can put some pinch pads in them so it doesn’t keep slipping.”
“Go for it. Now you’re saying it’ll get me erect 1/2 hour before bed time?”
“Sure, but if it’s loose, it might take a little longer.”
“”I think I better go a little tighter. Mimi gets horny in a hurry and the quicker I can get the motorboat started, the less tempted Mimi is to use alternative means such as the bed post.”
“Sure thing. And I’ll give you a shoehorn in case you have trouble slipping it on before desperate times come about. Mimi won’t rub the parquetry again, that’sour money-back guarantee.”
“The Milford Men’s Clinic friendly staff is ready to assist you and treat you like a Coach. Don’t take my word for it, ask Mimi. And see for yourself down at the Clinic. Give your significant other a Dr. Scholl treatment.”
Gang, comment away. I’m staying on the other side of the gym. I saw people getting eaten by anacondas. Sometimes Phibes goes too far when he gets slapped with a T.
Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer
“Gil: ‘I DID see Elvis.”
sub headline
“Presley seen as a 2 guard in Thorp’s offensive schemes.”
Bulletin board at St. Lucie Heights Luxury Condos
“Congratulations to Coach and Mimi Thorp for 1st Place in the 27th Annual Croquet Tournament, Handicap Division. Mimi won in a one-hole play-off. Thanks to ALL the participants.”
Somewhere on the streets of Milford, an unknown man leaves his dumpy apartmenton 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?
Hey, Robmize, gimme a break(ha). SOMEBODY’S reporting next week and it might be the bat boy for all I care so technically, I can start my Harry routine right off the bat(pardon the pun). Call it Spring Training in posting. Me and the bat boy are going to go through some excruciating exercises because we’ve been out of practice for a while. The bat boy might need a reminder where the dugout is located and I need to get my voice back in condition to sing about Jody Davis. Plus, I’ll need to get my wind back to sustain Steve Stone’s nasty cigars. I’m still using a fan to help ward off the panatella but good lungs in excellent working order wouldn’t hurt. I’ll just enter the Boston Marathon carrying a billy goat and participate in a triathlon where I have to swim through Jaws if I want to win the race. Heck, I oughta be able to inhale Steve’s smoke and hold it for several minutes and blow it right back at Gil. For singing, I’ll just practice trying to keep up with Deep Purple’s “Highway Star’ when it’s played at ’78. Singing about Jody and annoying the Hell out of Steve Stone and Lou Boudreau oughta be a breeze.
“You’re going to see Doctor Dimento and that’s FINAL!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Dad”, said Beaver while blowing fumes of a Havana towards Ward’s nasal cavity, “Isn’t he a DJ? Where does he find the time to practice?”
I feel this plot move under my feet
I feel it rot underneath me
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever Gil is out of his tree
Oooooooooo, Baby
Don’t you hate this
Sigmund Freud meets Bobby Knight
Ooooooooooo, Lordy
I can’t stand this
And Filion’s face is quite a fright
I just got to read “Cathy”
Carole King in full swing, She will aid in decapitating today’s strip et al.
And the first item to address, I mean THE FIRST order of business is to have you enlarge today’s panels and observe P1. If that isn’t a prime candidate for a Clearasil ad, nothing will ever be. Doesn’t he have sandpaper in his locker so that he can smooth over his countenance? As long as we’re going to talk about polite thievery when it comes to stealing Christmas Office Party food, can’t he hock some sheets out of the Industrial Arts room? My God, when I was struggling with making a book rack look like a book rack and wound up looking like the basketball goals the last couple of strips, I had more sandpaper to sand down than Gil has plots. Sandpaper in your desk, your shop locker, behind the lathe, under the power saw, planted in the pages of “Woodworking Today”, the teacher’s desk under his 1997 USA Today, lodged in the tin sheets. Mike, Politely stuff a few in your 3-subject notebook where there’s a compartment so they can be easy reference (“Found my sandpaper!!!!!!!!!”) and before the game, use some Oxy 5 and sandpaper to massacre those bad boys, use a Brillo pad to finish off the job, but only as a last resort. Let it dry at least 1/2 hour before tip-off. If the sandpaper you hocked won’t level a gerbil turd on the counter, your teacher went cheap this when ordering Industrial Arts materials. Thank God, High School Athletic Associations haven’t voted in a Zit Rule. Filion would be ejected before he entered the locker room around when the JV game is going on.
Now if those are warts, then he’s related to Broom Hilda and this might take a little more time. I don’t know if your shop teacher ordered eye of newt. You’ll have to check. Ditto if those are the measles. Archie Andrews’ freckles. Somebody got carried away in “Pluggers” and drew polka dots for the hell of it. That sort of thing. Don’t be afraid to confront your shop teacher on these things. It’s your face.
“Coach, he’ll have to sit a quarter until he removes those warts.”
“Kaz, is that Compound W still in your coat pocket?”
And for those of you majoring in Algebra and Solid Trig at Milford Community College, the caption in P1 oughta be a snap to figure out. The rest of you that had trouble with your x’s and y’s, I’ll give you a little more time. I still have 2 more panels to ramble on to decipher the code. The word “dozen” throws off a lot of people.
Gil on his conference phone with Dr. Pearl because it looks more official than having the same conference in the family room at Milford Lounge
“So if we order online 4 dozen Bucket Ovaltine Chocolate Shakes, 10 dozen Bucket Jalapeno Cheeseburgers, 1 dozen Bucket Liver Cheeseburgers, 20 dozen straws, 40 dozen pounds of Bucket Cape Cod Salted Fries, 20 dozen pounds Bucket o’ Buffalo Wings, 7pi dozen of Bucket Cream Cheese Doughnuts, 6 dozen Bucket Bagels & Lox, 13 dozen Bucket Blue Crullers, 300 ounces of Bucket Caffeine-Free Root Beer, that’d make (As Gil is punching his Texas Instrument TI-10 calculator that Mimi gave him as a wedding gift 30 years ago) 48, 120, 12, 240, 480, 240, approximately 21.98, 72, 3600, and 156 for the kids’ Valentine’s Day Dance the Plot Away this Friday, right?”
“Gil, I’m afraid you have the last 2 numbers in the wrong order.”
Gil, shakes the calculator, puts it to his ear for a pulse reading, then looks at it. Then he does the math, literally, with his #2 pencil beside him.”
“Shit, you’re right, Dr. Pearl, I pressed the Memory Plus function instead of the Memory Minus function. It’s been a long day playing Shrinkin’ and Stinkin’ with Mike.”
So to set the record straight, Irby had 2 dozen points, Filion had 3/4 dozen assists, quite an accomplishment, given the 2-on-5 set-up. I know Gil was trying to lay down the law by benching his people for violating team rules but who would inbound the ball should either one of the foul out? Gil, that’s why you’d have to call the game (In the rule book, gang, BTW) . Can’t run along the end line and throw a cross-court pass to yourself. Then there’s the defense. Box-and-zero? Matchup zone? Learn something new every day. Don’t EVEN try man-to-man. Clearouts ought to be a cinch. Filion and Irby out by the half-court line guarding their man while the passing lanes are wide enough for a Union Pacific to plow through, Gil better change defenses on that one. Unless you want to cave in on your principles and insert your suspendees in the game which might make more sense.
This plot has been a travesty
Of Nerf-Ball colored hues
No one’s playing basketball
Or cares about its news
Gil’s coached for years in Mudlark gym
Under some damn wicked spell
And I’ve had to see him suffer
Though I didn’t know him well.
So Ward Cleaver is going to stick to his guns and make Beaver see Sid the Shrink (Remember him from “M.A.S.H.”?) after all. And there’s a part of me that believes there’s a lost episode where the girls at school says Beaver has cooties, Beaver flunked the Spelling Bee, Wally flushed his hamster down the toilet, June donated that last piece of pumpkin pie to Goodwill Industries so that Beaver couldn’t have an extra piece, and Eddie Haskell’s mom has been having an affair with Coach Luhm in the boiler room at midnight. And there’s a part of me seeing Beaver lying on the linoleum floor (the ’50’s, you understand) while he turns on the oven. Well, so that I don’t scare you and because the ’50’s were justifiably short on reality, he turns on the Kenner job that he snuck out of Peppermint Patty’s house. I’ll let you use your imagination on how he was able to walk down the street with said hocked merchandise in broad daylight.
“Ward, have you noticed Beaver’s been sleeping in his sleeping bag by the Amana range lately?”
He coached with some uncertainty
As if he didn’t know
Just what sets to run on D
Or where guards need to go
Once he reached for his Paper-Mate
And tried to run a play
The center was all confused
Black and blue and lotta gray
And remember Ren and Stimpy? Sure you do. Remember the “Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy” episode where Stimpy is trying, blatantly unsuccessfully to infuse “Happy” and “Joy in Ren’s life? Allow me to transpose P2 and P3 so that Ren is trying to get Stimpy to see Sid the Shrink instead of Gil to Filion.
“WE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SEE, REN, I DON’T NEED TO SEE THE SHRINK!!!!!!!!!!!!! as Stimpy is bouncing off the backboard, the back of the backboard, dunking on the 8-foot goal in the corner while playfully singing “HAPPY, HAPPY, JOY, JOY” and forcing Marty to abruptly stop his interview with the 4 Seasons and hustle over, lest he gets outscooped by the Milford Times again. Scoop me once, shame on you, Scoop me twice, shame on me, that sort of thing.
“STEEM-PEE, YOU EE-DEE-IT, YOU NEED TO STEEL SEE A SHREENK. AND GEET AWAY FROM MAR-TEE MOON!!!!!!!!!! HOW ARE YOU GOIN’ TO EEEX-PLAIN WHY YOU WERE HUMP-EENG THE RAF-TURRRS, YOU WERE SO LOONY.”
Stimpy is done with being in heat on the ceiling, heads towards the suspendees who need some cheering since they aren’t playing and they all sing “HAPPY, HAPPY, JOY, JOY”, trying to get Marty to sing along but Marty wants a scoop, not getting humped on his leg.
Way to stay the course in P3, Ren.
Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer
“Filion Arrested After Damaging Popcorn Machine At Game!!!!!!!!!!!”
Okay, time’s up. Dozen means ’12’ so if you multiply a dozen by 2 you’ll get (checking my calculator) 24!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I Checked Schaum’s Outline Series-Precalculus so no need to look in Oxford English Dictionary for confirmation.
Today’s entry in Black History Month is Curt Flood. A VERY misunderstood ballplayer, he was thankfully exonerated as the years passed. An excellent center fielder with 7 Gold Gloves to his credit, hitting .300 6 times, a 3-time All Star and a member of 2 World Series Champions (St. Louis Cardinals, 1964 and 1967), he hit a buzz saw when the Cardinals traded him to the Philadelphia Phillies and he initially refused to report, challenging the Reserve Clause that had ruled Major League Baseball until the mid’70’s. The Reserve Clause basically stated that a player was bound to a ball club unless the player retired, was traded to another team. or the player was released from that team. Flood argued when he took his case to the Supreme Court that the rest of the business world lives under contracts and when that contract expired, the player was a free agent and free to deal with any club he chose. He lost the case and was essentially blackballed from the baseball world but he did pave the way for players revolting against the Reserve Clause and eventually having it removed. Gang, yes, many ballplayers are overpaid spoiled brats but many just wanted to get out of bad situations, especially when their contract ran out. Charlie Finley comes to mind. His asinine moves and autocratic methods, many which backfired and drove off many talented ballplayers bolstered Flood’s argument. Please join me to salute a man who stood tall and was only trying to do it The American Way.
YOU MAKE ME FEEEEEEEELLLLLLL SO ALIVE
YOU MAKE ME FEEL
YOU MAKE ME FEEL
YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A NATURAL WOMAN
“You have a good voice, Mimi.”
Thanks, Mrs. Kaz. Now we still need to get gifts for Valentine’s Day.”
“I was thinking of getting Bob a gift certificate from Milford Aesthetic Dentistry. They have wonderful plans that only cost 1/2 the lien on the house. And Bob with snow white pillars like the Parthenon with his earrings? Sexy.”
“Maybe, but Gil hates the place after they used pliers to remove a back wisdom tooth. it’s one thing to look beautiful but when the doctor had to borrow the tool box from the utility pole man, Gil went down the street to Milford Smiles, Incorporated for his dental work. No more sandblasting his bicuspids.”
“Hey, I know. What about Organic Fair Trade Coffee from Milford Coffee Worx? That and some danish on Valentine’s Day watching Milford Shopping Mall traffic is soooooo romantic. They also come in caramel and cherry flavors. And diet caramel if you’re trying to lose weight.”
“Gil would rather spend Valentine’s Day down at the Milford Lounge. They’re running specials at Happy Hour. Half-price on heart-shaped crab-legs and Russell Stover Pecan Turtles between 4-6 P.M. That and a Gerst Dark Malt will make a special Valent-”
Mrs. Shaw barges in
“HERE I AM WITH SOME GOOD NEWS!!!!!!!!!!!! The Milford Men’s Clinic is running a special for this Valentine’s Day. Just bring in a Doctor’s documentation on your husband’s ED and the Clinic will give a you a $500 Gift Card!!!!!!!!!!!! No more vibrators or going to Milford Adult Shoppe for stimulation!!!!!!!!!!!!! No more embarrassing moments suggesting he sharpen his pencil. The Gift Card is a way to broaden your horizons and your husband’s significant other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Wow, I WANT ONE!!!!!!!!! So if I get Gil’s paperwork out of the file cabinet in the kitchen and take it down to the Clinic, I can get a Gift Card too?”
“That’s right. So what are you waiting for? I just had the time of my life with my husband in the Port-o-Let at Milford Park.”
“Come on, Mrs. Kaz, let’s go. Valentine’s Day will never be the same.’
“Right behind you, Mimi, getting Bob’s papers out of the glove box now.”
“Make Valentine’s Day truly a Day of Love like Mimi and Mrs. Kaz, only at the Milford Men’s Clinic.”
Gang, comment away. We’ll see how long Filion stays in Stimpy mode. Wonder if that competes with the Billboard sketch this week. but that’s another story. Unless it’s Thorpiverse and then it’s A LOT OF stories.
It’s been a very long day for yhs and I have a sneaking suspicion that however I choose to snark today’s strip, it’ll already have been done to death on the Curmudgeon. With that in mind…
Time moves slowly in the Valley. Milford may be 1959 with cell phones, but in Tilden they whip out their 143-year-old campaign posters to decorate the gym.
Wow, will ya look what a little counseling – or just the promise of counseling – will do. Just like that shortstop-in-waiting Filion has turned into Mr. Helper. Even with Gil having benched the four failed wannabe billboard defacers, the Filion-driven Mudlarks are putting the Tildenites away in short order.
Meanwhile Marty thinks he’s being witty by labeling Marcell Ledbetter Irby the “stovepipe sophomore,” which conjures up imagery of Ralph Sampson,Chuck Nevitt or Manute Bol. His face tells another story, revealing the unfolding, horrifying realization that a winning Gil Thorp-coached team will destroy the Marty n’ B/Robby Show’s raison d’être. Not to fear, o soused sportscaster: Milford only wins when other teams have either thrown in the towel or benched their starters to rest them for the playdowns.
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