This Week in Milford

August 7, 2020

Lary Who?

Filed under: baseball, football, Gil Thorp, Milford Alumni — robmize2013 @ 8:41 pm

True details why he isnt playing football, and its pretty much like almost every other pigskin superstar failure– always hurt. But you can get pneumonia playing tiddly winks, True.

Then we really get into the wild and crazy world of comics– oh I’ll just try baseball one day. Yes we know he has a great (right) arm, but the farther you get in the baseball chain, the less you can just depend on natural ability because the better players at higher levels can hit a fastball no matter how hard its thrown.

How long did he go to college and get all these injuries, then still have time, one spring, to not only Start playing baseball, but get good enough to play college ball and get drafted? I mean, dont you only get 4 years of eligibility?

And how many people point at their Cap when saying they tried baseball? As if the listener didnt connect wearing a Rays hat with being a big league ball player? Oh wait, I know a thousand dopes walking around right this minute with baseball caps on who couldnt play dead if they were escorted onto a diamond by Willie Mays himself. So why the hell is he pointing at his cap?? Really looks cool huh?

Oh yeah, and Lary Sorenson the announcer, who played dreadfully for the Cubs in the 80’s…..

……and who True wouldnt know from Adam since he retired 32 years ago, helped him become who he is, which is … nobody at the moment. Boy, you get taught by a major league mope like Lary Sorenson, you deserve to have a GIRL catching for you to demonstrate your limited baseball prowess to a guy who’s on summer vacation teaching golf to kids.

The only thing I have in common with Lary Sorenson is… we both have 1 R in our first names. He was as forgettable as this TV show:

August 6, 2020

How I Met Your Armchair Golf Instructor Who Later Lucked Into Coaching.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 3:34 am

We are arguably entering the meat of the issue with this escapade that is only making one athlete angrier and more clueless about the town she has been touring and the other athlete more susceptible to the casual fan asking what possible reason could impel him to locate the nearest sandlot field and go through light workouts and think the manager from Tampa Bay is going to call Maureen because he is desperate for right-handed long relief. Maureen apparently knows all the movers and shakers in Milford but I don’t think there’s a hot line to the President under the sink.

But let’s be Christian about this and not want to rain on his parade. After all, he did manage to hook up with a catcher, even though her attitude leaves much to be desired. Any time you page The Maureen Connection, you’re sure to get your pick of the litter, even if that may turn out literally. But True, if you can’t run with the big dogs nor tolerate their wicked mouths, stay on the porch and order online from Milford Diner next time. Heck, Maureen may not only be delivering contactless Homemade Meat Loaf and Mashed Potatoes with a side order of contactless Hand-Churned Vanilla Ice Cream, she may have the number of the personnel director at Milford Environmental Concepts. A position as a sanitation engineer should the Tampa Bay manager already be overstocked in right-handed closers and the Yankees forgot to call.

After reading “Airport”, I found Arthur Hailey to be a fascinating writer. He’s a must-read and the movies, in my opinion, fileted his literature. With that in mind

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Shocked To Find Ada Quonsett Hiding In The Shower Stall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“What’d she do? Hitchhike to this condo? I thought she was just a stowaway at Milford International. I called Airport Security just to be on the safe side.”

And I have to bring her up again because, let’s face it, Corina, for all her attitude and such, epitomizes girls who can handle the catcher’s job with aplomb and dexterity. I have mentioned before Ashley Totten, who played  for Vincennes, Indiana Babe Ruth Baseball and just flat-out handled the position like a pro, giving signals and crouching like it was no big deal. She was simply a natural. And she had a sweet stroke at the plate as well. Yup, she could hit.

I must point out that unfortunately in High School Athletic Association rules, a girl cannot play in a specific sport for boys if there is a comparable sport for girls. Since Vincennes also had girls softball, that’s where Ashley would have to play if she wanted to continue her career. Without ever knowing what happened to her, I would have wanted to see how she could perform in baseball, since she really did handle herself very professionally.

And so it is no shock that Corina can, indeed, handle herself behind the plate. And if we didn’t have all this nonsense surrounding that, we might have a decent plot for once. But do you REALLY think a Thorpiverse changes its spots? You just can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s butt or his story ideas. The exploding eyeball says it all and this time there’s a brush fire on her face. That’s warning bells enough that a sow’s butt produces bull poop but not the figurative portions. That or she smeared too much pitch black on her face. Or spread shoe polish by mistake.

And to be sure, I am extremely confident that that is a slider she is misjudging in P1. Otherwise, her hand-eye coordination for fastballs better improve dramatically if she doesn’t want anymore lectures from Gil the Golf Man.

Mimi opens the storage box where all the volleyballs, slaughterballs, golf balls, softballs, soccer balls, golf tees, bocce balls, croquet balls, volleyball nets, soccer field flags, wiffleballs, and score book are kept

“Mrs. Quonsett, what are YOU doing in here? Aren’t you hot?”

“Oh, I apologize. I am waiting for my daughter anytime and the gym never gets much use so I thought I’d drift into the void. Would you like to go to Milford Diner for coffee and Danish? My treat.”

I have always liked the songwriting from Aimee Mann, especially when she was with her group ’til Tuesday. And her musicians were first-class all the way, Michael Hausman on drums, Joey Pesce on keyboards and synthesizers, and Robert Holmes on guitar with Aimee performing lead vocals and playing bass.

The video “Voices Carry” , a slightly controversial selection that managed to garner an MTV Award (Best New Artist) in 1985, dealt with Aimee torn between her musical career and her boyfriend, played by actor Cully Holland.

It comes to a head when Aimee comes home late and Cully is upset to beat the band. His words say it all.

“What’s a matter? Did practice run over? This HOBBY of yours is going TOO FAR!!!!!!!!!!! Why can’t you FOR ONCE do something  for ME!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And if this nowhere plot stalls in August, and do we have solid evidence to suggest otherwise, well, we can have Corina at her house fighting with her boyfriend over the catcher’s mitt while she goes to help True in his pursuit of a questionable hobby of his own.

And maybe they’ll make it work. She’s proven she can back up the talk so even if True spends the rest of his life patronizing sleazy greasy spoons pursuing catchers while dreaming one day of interviewing with Harry and Steve after he pitches the Cubs to a 7-0 shutout against the rival Cardinals (Robmize is going to kill me for this late-inning replacement-a Jay Johnstone pinch-hitting job) , one thing’s for certain, she CAN make adjustments for pitchers like sliders even if Gil Golf stands there with a bottle of Jack up his ass while her boyfriend comes down from one of those trees mating with another tree in the background and attempts to drag her off the diamond so they can get to the Milford Drive-In in time for Classic Film Night and thereby keep their date. Wouldn’t want to miss “Casablanca” because True was going beyond the pitch count and throwing out his arm.

If yore 565-pound girlfriend drags yore ass by tha hair off the field after ya wuz playin’ catcher in th’ Milferd City Class G Softball Tourn’ment and yore team got run-ruled as a result but ya still made th’ fireworks show on time, ya might be a redneck.

My high school homeroom teacher, Mr. Jackson, taught shop and was a farmer outside the classroom. One day, the principal called him in the office right as school was neari g the summer to let out and asked him if he was interested in coaching a team, like tennis or wrestling, for the high school.

And he had a decent athletic build but he really had no athletic background and was farming when he wasn’t teaching. Well, the principal was insistent and told him to think about it over the summer.

He comes back the following Fall and the first thing he does is walk into the principal’s office. And he told her that he did think about it and that he would coach ONLY IF he could coach the varsity basketball team or the varsity football team because if he was going to stink this one up, he was going to stink it up ROYAL.

And as long as we’re going to butcher this plot with Sisyphean pitch and catch, we might as well produce an out-of-control motif Ornette Coleman would be proud of if he was performing it on his alto sax.

Okay, so Corina walks out of the house with the equipment bag but her mom wants her to stay because her terrorist relatives are coming over for Sunday brunch. And Corina’s mom is not crazy about maxing out on her credit card ordering catering from Grandy’s and doesn’t want the flies to get all over the mashed potatoes so she uses a bomb to throw at ’em instead of Raid, clearly a case of overkill but the flies hightail it to the Milford Community Church picnic where they feast on burgers during the horseshoe fellowship.

Corina refuses because she has a thing for boys who play college football but have no life otherwise and she wants to make the relationship work. A battery that belongs to the stars. But Mom is stubborn, threatening to blow up the equipment bag and grounding Corina if she gets in the car and leaves for a guy who will dump her once he gets signed by the Yankees. Corina tells her that she hired an agent, Coach Thorp, who was already busy working with pre-school age children on their putting (“Okay, Kiddies, drive with your Captain Kangaroo driver for show, putt with your Mr. Moose putter for dough.”) but can squeeze in on his schedule negotiations with the Yankees front man as long as he can meet with him at Milford Diner because Maureen has the in’s and out’s on player value and makes a valuable bargaining chip.

Just as Corina is about to tell Mommy Dynamite to go f— herself, Corina’s boyfriend comes out of the hamper and tells Corina that she promised him that they would go to see Il Barbiere di Seviglia at the Milford Opera House and she better not be wearing her tools of ignorance while the Overture is playing (“SHE NEEDS TO BE WITH ME AND I WILL KILL IF HE THROWS ONE MORE SLIDERRRRRRRR”) . Corina is already late so she grabs a Magnum out of one of the batting helmets and shoots them both cold dead. Hey, we gotta bring closure to this one. We only have until the end of August. And no more bombs.

In Gil’s office one fine August afternoon

“Gil, what is an old lady doing sitting on the john?”

“No idea, Kaz. I told Luhm to lock the bathroom doors.”

And Gil, as long as you indeed have your putter’s aid and alcoholic refreshments lodged in your derriere, do we really want to KNOW (or CARE) what the full story entails? Because I am not prepared to watch Mommy Deadliest and Aimee Mann’s boyfriend get bombed out of this plot only to learn that we’re going to get byzantine in the state of things AGAIN by spending August assorting True’s athletic career and spin out of control during that time with intemperate Freudian analysis. Gil, you sit and booze on chaise lounges, not couches. Oh, the script we might endure. That’s right, Coach, I switched over to baseball because when I took the Rorschach test when I was 3, the blobby-looking football appeared to be the face of Lucifer. I had an aversion to hand-offs up until the Pop Warner League, then the coach made me run laps every time I said your mother bombs hot dog stands in Hell. I became the starting quarterback after Beezelbub was cast out. But the angel Gabriel and Dr. Freud both said to have baseball to fall back on in case Wake Forest pulled up stakes and moved to Norway. So here I am.

About as full of a story as you’re gonna get, Coach. It should last until the last week of this month.

Speaking of blobs, isn’t The Blob finished chewing up the scenery in the background? Maybe Mommy Deadliest has another stick of dynamite to shoo it away. Personally, I like watching trees during mating season.


“BTW, Coach, I know who shot Coach Shaw.”

Slurps another fifth with a chaser out of his back pocket then

“Really. I’m dying to know. Who was it??????”

“It was-”



“And we’ll be back if Gil is able to take Mimi to the Milford Concert Hall to watch Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition rather than go ahead with Senior Night at her 5th and final game after these messages. This is WDIG-TV.”


At Gate 4, on board a Delta 747 at Milford International, several minutes before it is scheduled to take off



“Honnnneeeeyyyyyy, don’t be a stowaway. I know you’re in the baggage area!!!!!!!!!”

“Go away!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m going to Rome to go meet the Pope. I’ve always wanted to meet a man of his stature.”

“Honey, this plane’s going to Dubuque.”

“Blubba, blubba, what I meant to say was I was going to catch the red-eye flight to Alaska. I heard the huntin’s really decent. We’ll have moose on the table every night for 2 months. Moose patties and roquefort cheese, mmmmmm, mmmmmmmm, food fit for a king.”

“Don’t you have to go through Customs to get any firearms approved? And how are you going to stuff a dead moose in baggage claims?”

“Fe Fi Fo Fum, Well, I’ll be darned, I’m not sure. I thought I’d catch a Rolling Stones concert in Tokyo and then cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Honnnneeeyyyyy, open the door and let my love in. I’ll forgive you of your misguided adventure if we do it between the Samsonites.”

“I’m sitting on a Fisher-Price toy box.”

“Whatever, let’s make it happen if we’re pumping while lying on fishing tackle.”

“And how did you find me anyway?”

“I bribed Mrs. Quonsett and she took another plane. She should be landing in Seattle any time now.”


“What could I say? When your best ally turns on you so she can go home and wait next month to bum another flight to Milford, it was time to face the music. And I got my limp guitar down to Milford Men’s Clinic where their treatment programs won’t hide under the suitcases. Now we DID stow away and we wound up in Portland, Maine. I had to use some Traveler’s Cheques to return to the homeland but sex in the luggage rack at 25,000 feet was a lot of fun. We’ll sneak on another Flight to Denmark next time. Come watch your sexual performance reach new heights, only at Milford Men’s Clinic.


Corina, ya got game. So do you, Gang. God bless you.


“Why can’t you FOR ONCE do something for me???????”

“Uhhh, Sweetie, you still need time to order? Here, let me take these plates out of your way. And do you want something to drink?”



At the Milford Nudist Colony Rec Hall where the Bridge Tournament is taking place

“Mommy, I saw an old lady in the bathroom. She had boobs that looked like Sun-Maid Raisins. She said she was a stoker weight. What’s that?”

“Here, Gil, keep my winning hand under wraps. C’mon, Honey, Mommy will treat you to a Klondike Bar at the concession stand.”

August 5, 2020

Corina Karenna Will Have None of Your Mansplaining

Filed under: baseball, Gil Thorp, hideous scar faces, Milford Alumni, Pissy faced Gil — teenchy @ 8:35 am


Well butter my ass and call me a biscuit. Rubin has given Corina a bit of a backbone in today’s strip. You think he’s finally been paying attention to all our comments about his numerous Bechdel test fails and his killing off of practically the only strong female character he’d created in ages? Yeah, me neither.

Still, I’m gonna enjoy her dissmissing Gil for as long as it happens. I’d also enjoy it if she blew off True and told him to just tell her what’s coming and throw the damn ball. She’s here to catch, not learn whatever signs he’s making up for the day. Besides, isn’t it the catcher’s job to put down the signs and the pitcher’s to just nod or shake his head then pitch? True can brush his chest as much as he wants to as long as he doesn’t brush Corina’s.

Oh, who am I kidding? Corina’s probably getting set up as another spunky, short-haired love interest for True. Let’s just hope she doesn’t end up driving a Jeep Compass. BTW, take a gander at P3 in that last hyperlink. Looks like True did remember where his future was, contrary to Gil’s advice. Mr. Coach Thorp needs to stagger back to the MCC and maintain his buzz while he pretends to show grammar school kids how to swing a golf club.

August 4, 2020

Look In The Milford City Phone Book Under “Lawn Maintenance-Catchers”.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:06 am

Let me see if I’m getting you correctly, True. You’ve never hired a catcher before. Okay, fair enough, I suppose the first time I called to get my lawn mowed and somebody to use the weed whacker on the grass you couldn’t get to with the Snapper, I was going out on a limb(getting really good at this pun thing, no?). And so when I need somebody to throw the ball back to me when I’m working on my arch in pitching softball for the upcoming Milford Parks & Recreation Adult Slo-Pitch Softball City Tournament AFTER the lawn’s been mowed, it can indeed be nerve-racking calling Dial-a-Catcher. This is not a decision that is to be taken lightly. I mean, you just don’t call your grandma to put on the tools of ignorance. You especially don’t tell granny to put on the tools of ignorance when you’re pitching a softball. I’m not going to induce Mr. Weed Whacker into a game of Pitch and Catch. He has 11 more lawns to hack at and his number is busy.

So by your own words, this can truly be a momentous decision. For God’s sake, don’t use your limited resources calling The Orkin Man. Let him spray the bugs and see if Maureen the Meddler can reach Corina. Mom should be off the phone after chatting with her fellow terrorists over the job they did on the Milford Coin Laundry establishment. Room for improvement. Don’t stick so much dynamite in one of the dryers. Use more coins next time. And don’t set fire to the Coke machine. Terrorists get thirsty too. Oh, is somebody going to call for you, Sweetie? True? Hang on. Hey, can I call you back, my daughter is wanting to use the phone. No, I won’t forget that project on the Milford Bookmobile. I’ll get the TNT at Home Depot.Okay, bye. Here, Sweetie, phone’s all yours.


I was intrigued that Neil Diamond wanted Bobby Darin to sing “Sweet Caroline” and “Solitary Man” at one time. Hmmmmmmmmm

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Diamond Insists That Coach Shaw Croon ‘Holly Holy’!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“He’s a natural. He’ll have the teenyboppers swooning in the front row at Milford Outdoor Amphitheater.”





“Milford Battery Analytics. You pitch ’em, we hitch ’em….Yes we do…….We charge $22.59 an hour, $2.00 extra if we have to bring our own equipment…….$15.00 service charge for standing out in the rain……You’ll have it ready in the bag? That’ll work. How soon do you need her? 2:00PM’s fine………..No problem, you’re the one paying for it, now where do you want her?…………No, state law won’t allow us to go over the county line………Milford T-Ball Park is fine, now let me run your credit card through that I have on the screen………What’s your security code?……….That’s your zip code……….No worries……..Yup, it cleared. All right, we’ll have her out there this afternoon at the T-Ball grounds, don’t forget your equipment bag……….And thank YOU. B’Bye.”


Yeah, True, I’m like you, I never hired a catcher when we were practicing in Babe Ruth Baseball. I found out that that’s what TEAMMATES are for, to help you especially when you really have no business doing this than starting your own car wash. At least when I used to watch B-Mac play at Jim Patterson Stadium, the dude had the game on both sides of the ledger (pitching and batting) to back up his risky venture. You have nothing but fumes in your gas tank. And you’re paying someone beaucoup bucks/hour to catch those fumes? It’s never too late to enroll at Milford Real Estate Career Seminar. You’d have just as much success there. And all you need is a name tag. You do spell it with an “e”, correct?


And the freak hands have been refined at the Milford School of Art & Design. Today is a prime example. I never knew that there so many ways to design hands that look like pterodactyl claws but it’s at a premium in P1. That’s right, when the pterodactyl is in its prehensile stage, it can draw a picture of John Doe when he is reduced to a stick figure. Anybody up for a game of Hangman?


If ya call your buddy ta brang over that 8-pointer he knocked off last week so that ya can practice bow-huntin’ by aimin’ for the prey’s hind end and gettin’ good at it before yore buddy’s gotta gut it and take it ta Milford Taxidermy, ya might be a redneck.


And let me get my Q-Tips Extra Fluffy to get my ears completely rid of ear wax and hear this again

“If you have the time, Coach.”

True, what non-game ball game are you watching???? Have you seen Gil do ANYTHING to warrant uttering a statement such as the one you just expressed in P2? To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, who was exasperated at the maddeningly slow pace General George McClellan exhibited when mobilizing the Union Army, “Would you tell me what the Hell you have done the last 2 weeks that would fatigue your junior golfers of ANYTHING????” I just look at that golfer in front of Laurel and Hardy and say, for argument’s sake, that Gil is tutoring her on the finer points of the game. Granted, fun is the top priority, but if we’re looking for challenges to improve on her rankings, you won’t find it in P2.

“Well, crap, I’m at the bottom of the heap, especially because I keep jerking my club head and it drops in the lake. Oh, well, I brought my scuba gear and as long as Coach Thorp is enjoying reminiscing with one of his ex-players, even if that ex-player really couldn’t be an ex-player in a sport he did for a cup of coffee, I’m enjoying shanking them off the willow trees. C’est la vie.”

It’s like the time some heckler at a Major League Baseball game shouted at a player who was at the end of his career a “has-been”. The veteran shot back “I’d rather be a ‘has-been’ than a ‘never-was’.”

Well, Mr. Never-Was is conversing with Mr. Never-Did-Diddly-In-July-And-Continuing-The-Trend-In-August while Miss Can’t-Miss-The-Port-O-Let-Without-A-Putter’s-Aid is having fun and upping her game. Oh, the places we’ll go.


At the Neil Diamond Hot August Night Revisited audition at Milford High School Auditorium

“Okay, Coach Shaw, let us see if we’re on the same page. You played ‘Play Me’ and ‘Song Sung Blue’ at Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club how many times?”


“I’d love to watch you throw.”

Your words, not mine, Coach. And I noticed you didn’t use the word “pitch”. True threw some doozies in his day when he was a football player but I’m not going to my broker at Milford Securities and More putting my stock in your throwing.

And we are getting desperate if we have to spend the rest of August watching Gil lounging and lushing at Milford Country Club when he’s not giving pointers to his charges on how to drop the ball when they’ve shot one in the concession stand. Sure, Gil, be careful when you turn your back that you don’t get mustard all over it when you make the drop. Inspirational coaching that lasts a lifetime or at least for this month when we’re reaching for ideas. Oh, well, we have Oliver Wendell Barrett IV ditching hockey because he fell in love with the catcher, Jennifer Cavalleri. Maureen is married to Mr. Cavalleri who runs Milford Diner when he’s not baking cookies at Milford Bakery. And Oliver is going to be slinging hockey pucks, er, THROWING the baseball to Jennifer, whose other mom is really a terrorist from Iran and lives under an assumed name rather than the actual name, Reza Muhammad Pahlavi Smith. She learned English from Mr. Dr. Pearl’s night classes. “Sweetie” was learned the week she learned how to conjugate “To Be”.

What happened to golf? Are they remodeling the clubhouse?


“…They comin’ to America!!!!!!

They comin’ to America!!!!!!!

They comin’ to America


My country ’tis of thee




“Shaw, get your ass out of the Port-a-Pot!!!!!!!!! I gotta pee me a river!!!!!!!!!!”

“Hang on, I still gotta wipe.”


And this summer leftover sports plot is getting off on the right foot in P3. What other female comes to a ball diamond with catcher’s equipment on their person? Dr. Pearl? Ms. Rizk? Rachel Ray? A female Neil Diamond groupee? Sweet Caroline? The Girl Who’d Be A Woman Soon?

“Mimi, the kids need a ride from soccer practice.”

“Could you do it this one time? True needs help with his forkball.”

And are we going to be playing pitch and catch for 27 days?  Because The Beach Boys already left town and I don’t count on them returning for an encore ball game/snack brigade/concert. Nick’s Pizza does not do informal, pointless workouts. True, ol’ buddy ol’ pal, you need to hang this one up. It’s hard for me to imagine Jennifer Cavalleri With An Attitude whose dad bakes cookies and other bakeries is going to add to the discussion. Heather Burns did not tour Rockville before she decided to quit soccer and go into coaching full-time.


“And we’ll be back for the King Biscuit Flour Hour Tribute To Neil Diamond At The Milford FOP Camp Outdoor Facility after these messages. This is WDIG in cooperation with NPR Radio.”




Some enchanted evening at the Shaw residence

“…Won’t need the bright lighttttsssss

No, no, we won’t

We’ll make our own lighting


Hey, she got the way to move me, Cherry

She got the way to groove me CHERRY BABY

She got the way to-”



“Honeeeeyyyyyyyy, it’s your widdle wove connection and I want you to make wove to-why is there a xylophone in the laundry room?”

“Oh, sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I had to get my guitar restrung at Milford Instrument Sales so they gave me a loaner instrument while the guitar is being worked on. They even sent a crew to lug it in the house. I know you don’t having any musical instruments in the bedroom.”

“Truthfully, I’d like YOU in the bedroom. Hard to make beautiful music with the marimbas-”

“Mrs. Shaw, that is where you’re wrong” as Coach Shaw retrieves a set of marimbas out of the dryer “I made sure to apply a Bounce Cling-Free sheet to it

Hey money talks

But it can’t sing and dance and it can’t walk

And I’d much rather have you here with me

Forever in blue jeans-”

“Darling, I want to make our OWN beautiful music by your forever DROPPING your blue jeans.”

“Mrs. Shaw, I can’t change the lyrics now. Mr. Diamond won’t let me and I want to make a good impression when I sing with him at Milford Outdoor Amphitheatre.”

“Honey, you’re leaving me Dazed and Confused.”

“Sorry, Honey, I can’t sing that one. It bombed at the Milford Lounge on Karaoke Night.

Love on the rocks

Ain’t no big surprise

Just pour me a drink

And I’ll tell you some lies





“Who is it?”

“It’s the Milford Police. Could you please keep it down? The neighbors are complaining.”


“I told Neil Diamond and he was gracious enough to postpone the concert another day until I faced up to the fact that my manhood was in jeopardy. I went to Milford Men’s Clinic and boy, did they Play Me. Now my wife is the words and I am the tune and we are playing all the time. My wife and I never knew how much fun we could have tuning ourselves like a baby grand. The harder the better. Come get your own version of “Chopsticks” at the clinic and experience the Carnegie Hall of pleasure. You won’t regret it.

Now come on, Gang. I heard someone say Chrissie Hynde from The Pretenders but her hair is black and Single White Female is blonde. And I’ve never seen a catcher’s mitt in the Back on the Chain Gang video. Try again.

Otherwise, God bless you, Gang. You mean the world to me.


At the Milford Diner, Police Squad enters the building for a bite to eat. Liuetenant Frank Drebin begins to order

“Okay, Maureen, so what do you know about the Corleones?”

“I’m sorry, Sweetie, we’re out of egg nog. You want to order Tang?”

Lt. Drebin slips her a 20.

“They’re going to be the ones in the Schwan’s truck at the Milford/Valley Modified game this Sunday. As soon as Nick’s Pizza pulls out, they’ll be moving in. They have Corina’s mom fingered.”


At the Milford Nudist Colony Recreation Hall where it’s Country-Line Dancing Night

“…I run out to see my baby

We got groovin’ when the sun goes down


Thank the Lord for the night time

Let’s forget the day

Baby, it’s up- uptight time

Chase it away…”


“Mommy, why is Mr. Moon dancing with the janitor? Aren’t they country-lion dancing? And where’s Miss Peaches?”

“Uhhhhh, Keri, here’s a 50. Go to the Nudist Colony Office and see if there’s still tickets for the Neil Diamond Hot Nudist Sun Concert next week.”

August 1, 2020

In Which Phoebe Keener Taps Her Inner Horatio Caine


(must… resist… urge… to… write… another… “Tom’s Diner”… song… parody…)

Maureen the waitress has become the Milford equivalent of Mayberry’s Sarah. How else does she have her finger on the pulse of Milford’s past, present and future jockocracy? Piecing this together the best I can, I’d conclude that:

1. Maureen knows Phoebe’s mom if not Phoebe

B. Phoebe told her mom that she was gonna be hanging with Corina, whose background Phoebe told her mom about as well

iii. Pheeb’s mom told Maureen about Corina’s background

d. Maureen knows True from way back

(5) Maureen called Pheebs’ mom with the deets re True’s needs

Besides slingin’ gossip, Maureen’s also slingin’ some substantial hash. Corina looks to have put on 20 pounds since the Valley Mod/Milford scrimmage cum picnic. Good thing she’s bulking up if she expects to catch True’s heater!*

Seriously, though: why couldn’t True have just asked Gil if Hiawatha James was available during one of their meet-ups at the MCC? Why couldn’t Maureen have told True of ‘watha’s whereabouts, she knows so damn much? This whole setup is weird, and Pheebs knows it. Y’all can’t tell me Whigham hadn’t been watching CSI: Miami before he drew today’s strip.


*What? Get your minds out of the gutter! Either True’s a true gentleman or we’ll find out more than we ever expected about statutory rape and the age of consent in the Valley.

July 30, 2020

Back In Metropolis, Where Mayberry Is Really Milford.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:37 am


There’ll never be a fragment quite like this

We’re so involved with eluding schemes that miss

Don’t say something good will ever come from this

Don’t say the damage can’t get worse than it is


Back in Metropolis

Circuses and Catcher’s Mitts

Where the diner bill grew


Back in Metropolis

Nothing’s really making sense

With September in view


Gang,  I was always waiting on a rainy day to use one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite groups, the Australian band, The Church. Gold Afternoon Fix is a classic album and I am using one of the album’s tunes to slay the Gil.

Oh, we’re in a fix, all right. Or at least Coronavirus is in a bit of a pickle, trying to explain how she got stuck with Hiawatha’s catcher’s mitt all of a sudden. She’s been commuting between Milford and Darrin Stephen’s former abode to work up the courage to explain why ‘Watha’s mitt is on the table next to the Milford Diner Pile o’ Blueberry Pancake Plate with a side order of O.J.? This is what we’ve been spending most of July occupying our time with when we’re not standing agape at a football player ex machina trying to bang on the Coke machine to get his baseball career out of the slot? Next time, use the correct change, True.

Folks, tomorrow is the last day of July. Hard for me to believe we’re going to wrap this thing up by simply saying “Oops, my bad, ‘Watha. I picked up your mitt by mistake when I was stuffing my equipment in the bag and flinging it in the trunk. Here, order some Milford Diner Reduced Calorie Waffles and some Egg Beaters, my treat. I’ll even pay for the syrup and the tea and the Heinz Ketchup that goes with it. Oh, my bad again, the ketchup is already on the table.” And they left Floyd the Barber’s place with a buzz saw happily ever after. Hey, Milford is Mayberry, correct?


Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Saw Elvis In A UFO At A Corn Field Near Milford!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“He took ‘Watha’s jock strap by mistake when he left the building and wanted to return it. Oh, and the leftover pizza. Classy guy.”


Are we going to spend all of August watching Single White Female try to flag down Hiawatha James so that she can call it square? She’s going to Alamo Rent-A-Car and drive the Ford Escort all over Maryland just to return a piece of equipment? I’m a huge high-pointer buff, having been to 21 high points in each state including Backbone Mountain, the highest point in Maryland. You better be in good shape as it’s a good 1-2 hours of vigorous hiking until you reach the summit, occasionally dodging the loggers that harvest the trees.

And I can’t see ‘Watha and his family enjoying a picnic they kept in their backpacks and sitting down on some of the boulders to eat their sandwiches wrapped in Gald bags only to have Single White Female hardly breaking a sweat scaling part of the Appalachian chain to inform ‘Watha she found his mitt in her dog house. She doesn’t know how it got there but the police is investigating.

And what’s with the menu in the background? Does that explain why Single White Female gained 20 pounds as a result of binge-eating Pringle’s Chips every time she graces the city of Mayberry, er, Milford? She better curtail her trips or she might not even reach Delaware’s summit. When you can’t even enter the trailer park situated at the apex of Delaware, time to switch to Weight Watchers.

Really, what could be on that sign that it deserves equal billing with Corina’s contraband? That costs $5.75?

“2 John Morrell Sausage Ropes, 1 Slice of French Baguette Bread, Milford Dairies Margarine, .25 extra, 2 Stauffer’s Animal Cookies, 1 glass of Diet Coke, no refills, $5.75.”

Ummmm, ummmmm. Those elephant and rhino cookies washed down with the free water or the Coke. I am living large.

Shouldn’t be living on the edge. Oh well

“Milford Diner Premium Salisbury Steak, straight from Stouffer’s box in the freezer in the back, tub of Bob Evans Mashed Sweet Potatoes, 10 Wheat Thin Crackers (Town House Lightly Salted Crackers can be substituted for this meal combo only) and a Mr. Pibb, $5.75”

They’ll be stampeding the doors anytime now. Corina better protect her contraband. Just stick it in the glove box.


OK, I’m hungry. And desperate. One more

“Milford Diner Black and Blue Burger, Burger burnt to your satisfaction and taste, Blue Cheese milked from the Premium Cattle of Milford Dairies, a generous helping of Buffalo Fries and Campari Tomatoes, on separate plates, bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, Ben and Jerry’s Mimi’s Choice Ice Cream, hand-scooped, coffee with Dunkin’ Donuts Caramel Creamer, Splenda optional, $5.75”


Thank God they sorted out the mess. It’s Hell getting Roma tomatoes and curly fries caught in your dental work.

Just put the mitt down, shut up and order, Corinavirus. Hiawatha ought to be back from vacation any day now.


If ya come ta tha diner that has deer meat on the menu ta return the shotgun shells yore neighbor put there in yore back yard when yore neighbor was huntin’ squirrel and snipe in his OWN yard, ya might be a redneck.


And speaking of Floyd the Barber, I’m having a hard time with Corinavirus walking into his shop and saying “Can you cut my hair just like Hiawatha’s?” Like Floyd the Barber does Mohawks. Right.


You stare down at the waitress from your trapeze

And when you fell, you fell smack dab right on the cheese

And when you’re broke, you scrambled for a cheap flat dish of peas

And when she spoke, she highly recommended Tastee Freeze


Back in Metropolis

Circuses and sweeties

Where the egg plants grew


Back in Metropolis

Topped off with Cool Whip

Second helping of stew


I am getting REALLY suspicious of that word “Sweetie”. We still haven’t confirmed that Corina’s mom is a serial arsonist who sets fires to Aunt Bea’s head and it’s hard for me that anybody who gives Aunt Bea the hot foot would call her “Sweetie” while she’s lighting the match. Yeah, right, Sweetie, put some more Matchlite Fluid on Sheriff Andy Taylor’s squad car, Sweetie. We wouldn’t want the vinyl in the vehicle to be half-smoked when he’s on a high-speed chase when Corina’s mom is trying to reach the county line.

And, okay, I’ll assume for the moment that the waitress did not reincarnate as Lizzie Borden but then my next question is, who died and made her in charge of the soap operas around here? Like I could walk into the Scottsburg, Indiana Waffle House, order bacon and eggs, then the waitress tell me my mother just died of herpes, the family is trying to call the preacher for the eulogy, and that the viewing will be closed-casket. Oh, and funeral services are pending, awaiting the funeral home being tested for COVID-19. And we’re out of Special K.

How about some Grape Nuts?


“Otis, Sweetie, could you move your foot? These jail cells are pretty small. And keep the whiskey bottles on your side.”


And now that Maureen the Milford Enquirer Gossip Columnist Who Moonlights As A Waitress To Make The Payments On Her 2 Auto Loans Plus The Condo At Mudlark Lake Estates knows my shoe size and the flavor of gum I’m chewing a la that Hickory Husker (“Stay on him like glue!!!!!!!!!!!”) , the smorgasbord (pardon the pun) of Mysterious Objects in P2 could finance the rest of my retirement. The readers and contributors have frequently noted the blobby earrings that Corina is wearing, a far cry from the skimpy jewelry that was gracing her ears at The Beach Boys Concert/All Summer Long With Baseball event. She looks like cancer is overtaking her ears. Good reason to be concerned. Then the cylinders with straws jutting out of them are better suited for sugar dispensers than plastic glasses containing Nestea. And what in the name of Maureen Loves Gil is in the background? A birthday cake and a preacher’s lectern? That MAY be the cash register and as long as we don’t see Jimmy Swaggart and a hooker, I’m sticking with cash register for now. And it might be Maureen’s birthday. Sure, let us celebrate the Special Day of the one person who has your kindergarten transcript in her dresser drawer while she’s serving you meat loaf and pasta salad. Blow out all the candles, Maureen the Meddler. Oh, and the chicken cacciatore is a little cold.


“Eat all your vegetables and carne di maiale a salsa bianco con canneloni grosso e vino rosso, Opie. There’s starving kids in Tilden that would kill to have what they serve here at the Diner.”

“I will, Pa. I’ll make sure I can see Deputy Fife’s face at the bottom of the plate.”



NOW WE GET TO THE RAISON D’ETRE OF THE STRIP!!!!!!!!!! Trying to make sense on how Milford landed in an either/or proposition with Mayberry or vice versa. Does this mean Big City Life versus Rural Scenery w/a bit of Hick Core Values? Because I don’t think Corinavirus is referring to Mayberry on the former scenario. Nope, Corinavirus, you won’t find Goober running the Elder-Beerman or Macy’s Department Store, Milford is too upscale for his goofy crown hat. And don’t bother looking for Gomer Pyle in the Lingerie Department at Milford Saks 5th Avenue. He’s too busy with a customer. Then there was a study that discovered that within a 3-block radius of Milford High School, more households subscribe to the New Yorker than all of Mayberry. In fact, the lone customer is Thelma Lou and she uses back issues to scoop up the dog poop. She can’t use a dust pan and a broom, Dollar General Store has yet to plant its stakes in Mayberry.

Single White Female, you need to get out more.


“We’ll be back to see if Single White Female steals Maureen’s hair and her name tag and becomes a sleazy waitress herself who even calls Mr. Dr. Pearl ‘Sweetie’ and snoops into his porn magazine collection under his bed and learns the truth after these messages. This is WDIG-TV.”


“Man, that Maureen is pretty darn good-looking and if Mimi got burned up in a 3-alarm fire, Maureen would be the first I’d call for a date. That name tag just sends me.”

But I’m not here to talk about my own sexual identity, I’ll leave that for when the arsonist sets fire to our house and Mimi is asleep in bed and I’m late from an extra-inning affair. Hi, this is Coach Thorp on behalf of Milford Beverage Warehouse. We are pleased to announce our new location in Mayberry R. F. D. And the response has been overwhelming. But did you honestly think we’d let Otis the Drunk hog all the fun and the booze? Folks, you know me better than that.

The ribbon-cutting ceremony will be this Saturday at 1:00PM and there’s more where that came from once you walk through the sliding doors. First off, many of Mayberry’s fine people will be there to sign autographs and take part in the festivities. There’ll be rides out front and games of all kinds, including knocking over bowling pins using Barney Fife’s pistol he once used on a getaway car from Mayberry Federal Credit Union.

Won’t it be wonderful to talk about the Cubs with Floyd the Barber and purchase Four Roses Yellow Level Bourbon in the 1.75 Liter bottle for only $16.99? Be sure to have your camera ready to pose with Floyd Baby for this once-in-a-lifetime moment.

Or maybe you’re more comfortable purchasing Early Times Whisky in the 1.75 Liter bottle while talking about the weather with Aunt Bea. Shoot, I love talking about how I’m going to hose down my petunias with good company and saving money too. At $18.99, conversation with good company and a bottle in the sack with the receipt, not gonna haggle.

Or you wine-and-cheesers prefer talking to Goober about how the wine trade is getting sabotaged by foreign competition. At $10.99, you can have your Yellow Tail Fine Wine and I betcha Goober will lend a sympathetic ear. Hey, I bet he’s read the Wall Street Journal a time or two.

And here’s an extra treat. Wink Martindale will be on hand this Saturday and he too will sign autographs. Isn’t that nice that celebrities take the time to gather with the masses? And he will be there intent on squashing the rumors that he made a move on Thelma Lou at the Mayberry Police Station when Andy Taylor and Barney Fife were on a run. Wink insists that Otis the Drunk was sober and saw the whole thing. Personally, Truth and Time and Booze all walk hand in hand.

Boy, that sounds like a heckuva party, ya think? And you don’t even need to RSVP or pay dues. You DO gotta get your butt down here and join in the happiness. Come rub elbows and holsters with Andy and Barney and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.”


Gang, dang it, leave me alone!!!!!!! I’m still trying to decide if Milford is a thriving metropolis or a one-horse town like Mayberry. Way to throw a monkey wrench into this one, Corinavirus.

God bless you, Gang.


Back in Metropolis

Talk about a lost cause

When we visit this zoo


Back in Metropolis

The atmosphere’s ridiculous

What’s it all leading to


And it’s only a month away

We could leave tonight

We could snooze along the way

Snooze in black and white



“Is that Bazooka Joe you’re chewing? Ewwwwwwww.”

“BTW, when does the county sheriff in Maryland plan on releasing Hiawatha?”



July 29, 2020

That’s No Catcher’s Mitt, That’s Our Waitress


Alright TWIMers, I think we can start connecting some dots here. Corina has been casing set her sights on Milford as a place to go commit crimes to school next year. If that happens, she’ll end up another in a long line of talented Mudlark athletes the Coaches Thorp didn’t have to coach to end up that way. The fact that she’s doing this opens things up for a lot of exposition that we may or may not get. Is going to Valley Mod a sentence that a student has to serve, and that student is free to go to whatever school in the Valley s/he chooses once time has been served?

She’s already trying to fit in by donning the Milford uniform of chunky bracelets and huge earrings – the same earrings as her waitress, Maureen – after sporting demure studs previously. She’s also trying to fit in by eating mass quantities of greasy diner food. I mean, look at the size of that burger! Wait, that’s not a burger but a catcher’s mitt? Who puts a catcher’s mitt on the table they’re gonna be eating from? And why, if she’s talking about said catcher’s mitt, is Miss Pointy Fingers Phoebe pointing to her left and not down and in front of her where the catcher’s mitt is sitting?  Maureen’s fourth wall-breaking glance says it all. Nobody expects waiting tables at a diner in Milford to be glamorous, but she certainly didn’t sign up for this kind of insult. I mean, come on! She may not be very pretty now, but she was someone’s baby once.

I’d be much more interested in learning about the path Maureen took to end up waiting on Corina and Phoebe. Something tells me she’s been around the Valley a time or two.

July 28, 2020

Indiana Wants Me, Won’t Go Back To Milford.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 2:21 am

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford

Indiana wants me, won’t go back to Milford

Town needs a clue

To get through

If a city ever needed dyin’, this did

It couldn’t get a grip to grasp what others said about it

It’s so staid and brainless there, without hope

But here in Bloomington

Common sense and rooming in

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford

Indiana wants me, won’t go back to Milford

Town is in a stew, can’t plow through

Gang, is this going to be the modus operandi the remaining part of July and all of August? A Now-You-See-Gil-Now-You-Don’t-At-Milford-MCC poring over True’s questionable venture into a sport the latter really didn’t claim as his own when we’re not watching The Goodbye Girl and Single White Female in an intense discussion over knitting and the bombing of Milford City Hall? DAMN, I forGOT, there IS sports. Alexa playing a game of “Horse” with Phoebe, how stupid of me. That oughta tide us over until football.

“Off the backboard, through the goalpost, no rim. Nothing but nylon.”

“Right-handed or left?”


What is the point anyhoo of Single White Female gracing our presence? Like the sergeant asked in the movie “Full Metal Jacket”, did your mommy and daddy not give you the proper attention? Well, evidently not, if Mommy Dearest was sticking TNT in the travel lockers at Milford International Airport.

And what’s with the obsession with thirst? Were your psychotic tendencies that led you to steal Phoebe’s identity when you weren’t crucifying her or other girlie-girls with an ice pick a result of iron-poor blood and not enough Gatorade and vegetables in your diet? You come to Milford to steal Gil’s hair and assume HIS IDENTITY because you didn’t have enough coins to put in the Ski machine when you were six-years-old? You were potty-trained with Ensure? Try calling the audibles, Single White Gil, when you ran out of Yoo-hoo! when you were in kindergarten. This Freudian adventure ought to fill up space for a while. Heck, we can ditch True talking to Harry Caray when he’s not eating cheeseburgers off Mimi’s Wurlitzer. Who needs a Sane White But Slightly Ill-Advised Male when we can plunge into the remaining time with a thirsty female Norman Bates who stabs Lady Mudlarks when she’s not working at the batting cages on her swing? This is a front-seater, fer sure.

Because I will never get used to pop-ups occupying the seats at Major League ball parks

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Fined $500 From Milford Parks & Recreation Adult Flag Football League After Gaffe In Recent Game!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Look, my grandmother was an alcoholic!!!!!!!!!! I can’t control the situation when they bring her life-size cut-out in the bleachers carrying a bottle of Cutty Sark in her hand!!!!!!!!!!”

And what a better way to spice up the plot that is getting more non-athletic by the panel, commencing in P1. Like Single White Female is coming back with Gilslinger, freshly turbocharged after being several hours under the knife on a table in the back of Milford Electronics Supply. Aren’t you just EXCITED? I know I’m waiting with an ample air of anticipation for Milfordworld: Gilslinger Uses an Ice Pick This Time.

And we aren’t going back to Milford Diner, nosirree, no matter how thirsty we are. If we have to die dehydrated on the streets of downtown Milford in front of Milford 5 & 10, so be it, but the Nestea had bugs in it the last time. Best to go to Milford Lounge where the patrons are drinking their Coke and Jack and Jose Cuervo with their COVID-19 masks on with pride. As long as we’re going to ruin a plot that is not long enough to accommodate Milford Chess Tournament, can we service my thirst at a venue where Gilslinger can use his six-shooter in case the drunk with the PBR says anything about Gilslinger’s mother and I can satisfy my psycho leaning on the bartender? Steal his identity and his shot glasses? I have fake ID’s and Gilslinger is an adult. We ought to be fine.

I mean, where ELSE could SWF and Phoebe be going? We’ve already been there but if we have to resort to repeat performances, there’s little logic in regurgitating the toast at Milford Diner and reheating it in the toaster. Serving THAT with eggs that came out of Gilslinger’s holster and bug-infested iced tea? Menu and plot fit for a king. Here, King, here, King, I have a surprise to put in your doggie bowl.

“Draw, sissy.”

“Shut up, Gilslinger. I’ll do the killing here at The Bucket. I’ll corner the waitress with the ice pick later after I’ve ordered Bucket Spaghetti O’s.”


“Gil, that’s a cut-out you’re talking to.”

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford

Indiana wants me, burn the road to Milford

Town without a view

The plot flew

It bites to see the disgrace this has become

And to learn we’ll never see sports this summer, based well at hand

We’ll never eye athletics that truly beat the band

If just once we could spot a golf club

Baseball or a soccer ticket stub

Indiana wants me, can’t back to Milford

Indiana wants me, escape from the dregs of Milford

Nothing’s ringing true

Let’s start anew

The one saving grace in P2 is the artwork is pretty decent this time. Chaise lounges that actually look like chaise lounges, not blobby contraptions that escaped from The Planet of the Apes or as props for Attack of the Killer Mushrooms (“Aggggghhhh, Alexa!!!!!!!!!! It’s got me!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Where’s that ice pick Corina loaned me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”) . Trees that look like trees, not one oak hunching an elm and you gotta turn the hose on them to get them apart. An umbrella shade that looks like an umbrella shade, not those killer mutant turtleshell creatures that terrorized some town in England or Sccotland back in the ’60’s (forgot which) . No, Thorpiverse, don’t even go there. Radioactive canopies that attack two teenagers, one going to college in the Fall to get out of Rockville forever and the other trying to find her place in the sun because athletics left Rockville too, I think you better stick to non-athletic soap operas. When did you EVER see a radioactive turtle shell attack Luke on General Hospital? For 6 months? Rest my case.

We still have Phoebe’s one leg that evidently got caught in a sawmill at Milford Lumber Yards, but don’t rain on my parade, Gang. Yes, the artwork’s not a 10 but a 9.5 wins a lot of gymnastics meets.

If ya go to Indiana ta stay in somebody’s garage cuz ya heard the tractor pulls are a lot more excitin’, especially the Cornfield-Luggin’ event with a Hog-Rasslin’ show as a bonus that would put Milford Stockyards ta shame, ya might be a redneck.

I don’t blame you, Alexa, if some strange girl comes to my hometown after lecturing The Mayor on his lineup and practically threatening your bestie for interrupting T-ball practice, then brags about how her mom is a terrorist who blows up your garage before your yard sale and evidently develops a thirst from all that carnage, I’d be permanently headin’ to Indiana too. I’ll take my chances that detonating Assembly Hall is low on her mom’s list. I just hate to see how dehydrated Corina get from blowing up the animals at Milford Zoo. Is Corina going to need the whole Bud truck? There’s only so many vehicles at Milford Beverage Inc.

Then there’s the only glitch to the artwork in P2, speaking of garages. Streaky garage windows that look like the Pepsi cooler fridge at one of those outdoor convenient marts and make for nifty celluloid material that shows Bugs Bunny going back to his rabbit hole in Indiana when he’s running from Elmer Thorp and his shotgun might be good theater but confuses the Hell out of the readers. No garage doors that appear to be window dressing, literally.

Coach Shaw appearing with Buck Owen and his Buckaroos at the Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club with nothing but cut-outs in the audience.

“Buck, I’ve heard of tough crowds before but this is ridiculous.”

And Foghorn Leghorn returns and tells a funny. That’s right, I say, that’s right, it’s going to take a Freightliner to move all them chickens and chicken feed out of the chicken coop and transport ’em down Indiana 46 out of Columbus until you get to Bloomington. Thank God there was no snow on them curves when we wuz goin’ ’round the bend. We would of had ta listen ta True for ‘nuther season, dependin’ on which side of the MCC he and Foster Brooks is standin’ on. The front side is football cuz that’s the side that yuz talk about anything and not be afraid that the general public might hear. Ever’body wants ta hear war stories where yuz won the war no matter how long ago the war was. Jerry Pulver proves that. Doin’ somethin’ stupid like tryin’ ta make a Major League roster with only a smattering of experience, let alone do it without getting Minor League seasonin’, seasonin’ that ain’t gonna take place cuz the season itself has gone ta the dawgs, well, ain’t no wonder why yuz talkin’ about it on the back side. I’d be talkin’ about usin’ chicken feathers fer toilet paper on the back side too. Tha’s another joke, Son.

Okay, Gene Rayburn is back and this time he’s mad as Hell and not gonna take it anymore and can’t say I blame him. Take no prisoners, Gene

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought True could play baseball without having to ___________________”

So is this going to be On The Road With Charles Kuralt? Charles is going to go watch True get thrown to the lions at Yankee Stadium after he dumped off all of Alexa’s possessions that Mom Watson bought at Milford Costco out of his Winnebago? Before Single White Female slashes Kuralt’s throat with a catcher’s mitt? And after Mommy Dearest planted a bomb in Kuralt’s boxers?

Vaganova, you were right. Too many unfinished scripts running around in a stock car race.

“And we’ll be back to see if The Bobbsey Twins decide on a U-Haul or if their mom needs to keep her “B” license and not let it expire so that the Bobbsey Twins can move their beds into the dorms at IU after these messages. This is WDIG-TV.”

“Man, that’s a tough decision. I know Milford Rental can ream your butt with rental vehicles that can barely tote a tricycle. I hope Mom Bobbsey watches that speed trap in the T. C. Steele Memorial parking lot when she’s whipping through Brown County on the way to Bloomington.

But at Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage, our products won’t ream your behind, either in your pocketbook or your gluteus maximus. We stand behind our meats because we don’t use U-Haul rental vehicles to move our hogs to the slaughterhouse. We don’t need to put floor-dry in the B truck after transporting our finest Yorkshires through the meat grinder. No security deposits involved.

Instead, we use Milford Department of Transportation-approved A trucks and B trucks to deliver fresh goodness to your dinner table. No meed to back the trailer in your driveway when you can pick up a package of Gil Thorp Regular Sausage at the grocers. And with a coupon, you can keep them trucks a-rollin’ to the delivery dock where the forklift can drop it in the cooler section, at a cheaper cost. Makes me want to tip the forklift driver a 5.

And some of you want to keep from getting COVID-19 so you only have no more than 10 guests at your Bar-B-Q. Not a problem. I only had 15 guests at my kids’ preschool graduation on the verandah. We can relate. That’s why our Gil Thorp Isolated Pea Product Sausage Patties are sure to be a hit at your family reunion that only has 5 people at shelter #12 at Milford City Park. They have been inspected and defumigated and sprayed to keep the roaches from having their own family reunion. Nothing like a Bar-B-Q that has that Renuzit Strawberry Scent to reassure that you won’t get any diseases. With your mask protecting your face, The Plague doesn’t stand a chance in Milford, let alone at their parks.

Speaking of COVID-19, many are concerned about this pandemic. Let me reassure you, our workers on the assembly line wear masks and gloves when handling Gil Thorp Italian Blasted Bratwurst. There’s no sense in letting germs invade our high regard for quality standards and safety measures. We shouldn’t have to remind adults to wipe and then wash their hands after they’ve wiped but we’re not taking any chances. Would you eat a brat from somebody who forgot to use Charmin in the bathroom stall? It puts a damper on the picnic.

Come get your own sterilized sausage at the company that wrote the book on slaughtering hogs for meat safely and legally. That’s right, we at Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage are proud of our immaculate record, unlike Tennessee Pride which got hit with heavy fines by the FDA. That incident in the meat freezer when the meathandler had severe allergies didn’t help. Next time, use Dayquil.

Clean living never tasted so good. Come get clean in your grocery store for your own package.

Gang, I’m laying low because I’d rather not get transfixed with an ice pick. When Single White Female moves to Bloomington, I promise I will say you mean the world to me. God bless you.

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford

Indiana wants me, won’t go back to Milford

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford (“Gil, this is the Indiana State Police.”)

Indiana wants me, won’t go back to Milford (“This plot is not worth the corn husks on the ground.”

Indiana wants me, can’t go back to Milford (“Give up this cow manure and go back to Milford and stop bothering us in Indiana.”

Indiana wants me, won’t go back to Milford (“You need to pursue a sport-might I suggest rugby?”)

Indiana wants me, cant’ go back to Milford (“Isn’t Mimi satisfying?)…


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