Eyesight for the Belligerent

Captain Gilbert didn’t come home

His unborn child will never know him

He’s believed to be missing with a couple of men

They planted 8 bombs inside the gymmmmmmm

 

It’s a boy, Mrs. Gilbert

It’s a boy

 

It’s a boy, Mrs. Gilbert

It’s a boy

 

Hear the joyful celebration in the street

It’s a boy the day we won the Final Heat

 

And gang, I think you know where I’m going with this. After watching “Barry: The Musical” and still thinking Daffy is still Queen of Sleaze, what was Barry expecting? To clear his name up IN THE MILFORD ENQUIRER?????? No, Daffy, I did not get on that UFO with Elvis. I was down at the Milford Moose Lodge with The King seeing if he could revive his career at the Annual Chili Cook-Off and Raffle Ticket Night. Man, some lucky cat was going to have the time of his or her life listening to “Don’t Be Cruel”, “Heartbreak Hotel” and “Suspicious Minds” and drive away in a brand new Cadillac, courtesy of Milford Motors. But no, your story killed his career. Thanks for nothing.

Then there’s Ms. Rizk. Aside from going back to the Granny from Beverly Hillbillies look, she’s gone from calling things straight down the middle to being Ebenezer Scrooge. The Baders are asking for mercy after you sent them through the meat grinder? Humbug! Serves them right!!!! I’m going to call the deputy sheriff and foreclose their house anyway. We’re going to turn it into the Milford High School Journalism Annex by the end of the year!!!!!!

I would like to give a shoutout to Heather Sanders in Louisville, Kentucky.  She may be confined to a wheelchair but her humor isn’t. She is VERY funny and keeps me going with her edgy wit and on-point insight. She makes my job easier and I have promised her that I will do EVERYTHING I can to get her in the next movie my dad does (my dad being a part-time actor). Heather, I intend to keep that promise. Right now, you are shining pretty bright because you deserve a moment in the spotlight. Keep the funny bone pipeline going because, well. YOU’RE FUNNY. YOU ROCK, My Friend.

 

Marty: Gotta feeling ’17 is gonna be a good year

Baseball season’s done and we can putt forever

Mimi: I had no reason to be overoptimistic

But with your 3-handicap, it’s a great endeavor

 

Captain Gilbert, smelly gym towel over the left side of his burned face, after a hard-fought overtime victory over Death, sees Marty and Mimi in bed.

Marty wakes up. Grabbing the 2014 trophy off Mimi’s makeup table, he wacks Captain Gilbert on the right side of the face, careful not to ruin the perm Captain Gilbert has sported for 60 years.

Barry, fresh from sneaking a sip of Cherry 7-Up out of the fridge, wiping the top so that nobody’ll get germs, steps in just as his father’s hair morphs into Hendrix from “Band of Gypsies”.

WHAT ABOUT THE BOY

WHAT ABOUT THE BOY

WHAT ABOUT THE BOY

HE SAW IT ALL

 

You didn’t see it

You didn’t hear it

Not a word of it

Not a sight of it

You’re gonna turn into a jerk

WITHOUT ANY PROOF

 

Now he’s deaf

Now he’s dumb

Now he’s a jerk

The guilty are safe

But always accused

By his asshole ways

 

What’s with this Betty Crocker motivational tool? I can see the commercial.

“Yes, what better way to preclude your friend from using a toilet plunger on a person’s reputation than to discuss the matter over buttermilk scones and tea? Mmm, mmm, and those sourdough biscuits buttered with Blue Bonnet on it tastes better than the stuff you have to swallow about your husband, coming from an amateur Ida Tarbell? Mrs. Olson should be coming in anytime and discussing Mr. Olson and Mr. Whipple (apparently they’re squeezing more than Charmin) having an affair with each other. Yes, Daffy, they’re coming out of the closet so have paper and Paper-Mate ready. After you’ve eaten your 10th sourdough, naturally. Set ’em at 350 and the gossip too and forget it. That’s the Betty Crocker way (“Cooking with Pam” theme whistling in the background)!!!!!!!!!!”

 

“Can’t you see the Christmas lights and all the toys that are so wonderfully enlightening

The Nike shoes, the bats, the balls, I swear it gets to be so terribly frightening

And Barry doesn’t know what day it is

He’s such a jerk, he doesn’t know who Jesus is

HOW CAN HE BE SAVED

FROM LOSING SECOND BASE

 

BARRY, CAN YOU HEAR ME??????? as Mimi whacks Barry with a bat.

 

And has anyone seen Ms. Rizk ANYWHERE but the Journalism room? We assume she takes potty breaks. We assume. And we assume she’s typing, or editing the school newspaper. All this time she’s been typing billet-doux’s to Luhm and  he’s cramming them into his locker at night? Anyway, I haven’t seen her down at the Milford Burger King ordering a Double Beef Whopper and unsalted fries. Or at a car show at the Milford Civic Center parking lot. Still glued to the chair along with Chris Elliott’s parents on “Get a Life”, I see. At least she isn’t in her bathrobe.

Gang, I realize Tommy is overshadowing Daffy today. She will have her day in court. Right now, I’m wagering nobody’s going to put up much resistance to the “DIE IF YOU WANT TO, YOU MISGUIDED PUPPET” approach, long-overdue at that, to Barry Bader. I’m wagering. I only make so much in my paycheck, gang, after taxes.

 

Barry, can you hear me?

Can you feel me near you?

Barry, can you see me?

Can I help to cheer you?

Ohhhhhh, Barry, Barry, Barry…

 

He seems to be completely unreceptive

The love I gave him makes no sense at all

Dale Carnegie is not in his demeanor

He pukes at Albert Schweitzer’s love and calllllll

 

SEE ME

FEEL ME

PLAY ME

ADORE ME

 

SEE ME

FEEL ME

LICK ME

WORSHIP ME

 

There is no chance, no untried operation

All hope lies with him and none with me

Imagine though the shock from isolation

When he suddenly owns up to reality.

 

At the Milford Girls-A-Go-Go Club, Mimi Thorp answers the sign out front that says “Taking applications. Must be 18 or older.” Figuring she still has time before the Playdowns start in August(they’re just doing a light workout today anyway plus some bunting drills), she swings the SUV into the place. Just because they play softball on the 4th of July  doesn’t mean they pay time and a half so Mimi is always up for the extra income.

“Next.”

Mimi Thorp follows the secretary to Al DeWindt’s office. He’s the Personnel Manager.

Al peruses the application. He eyes the “Reason for Leaving” section and notices that she left it blank for her employment at Milford Burger King.

“Why did you quit Burger King?”

Mimi really doesn’t know how to lie. So she confesses.

“I was 16 years old at the time and I told the manager I knew how to make a Whopper. I wanted to impress my friends so I had at it. I slapped on Mel Purnell’s Whole Hog Hot ‘n’ Spicy Sausage patties instead of ground beef because I wasn’t paying attention, then I put the wrong pickles on the sandwich, I should have used Vlasic, plus I spread too much Hellman’s, I used a paintbrush instead of a spatula, then the lettuce was too brown and it was wilting like my husband’s wim-wim, and I stuck a slice of Swiss cheese because I swear to God I couldn’t find American even though the manager insisted they were behind the ice machine and when a few customers complained to the-”

“Ooooooooookkkkkkkk,” convinced that her crime has reached the statute of limitations, having 33 more applicants to interview, “Mrs. Thorp, you don’t have any problem showing your tits?”

“I used to tell my girls on the basketball team to give 110% effort, no matter what the scoreboard says. If that’s the job description, I will let it all hang out and dive for loose balls with everything I’ve got. I’ll have a lot of floor burns on me at the end of the night.”

DeWindt writes “very mature” on the check-off list. He adds “could be performing Christmas show with the 2 ex-Rockettes.”

“Are you willing to work overtime? Sometimes the New Thayer Moose Lodge holds their annual convention over at the Milford Ramada and a few of ’em head our way. They can get a little rowdy.”

“No rowdier than that crowd at Tilden. A lot of people were throwing coins, chewing gum, program ads, and candy bar wrappers at our girls but when we beat them in triple overtime, we got our revenge. Plus, Gil is hiring on as a bouncer so I don’t foresee any problems.”

“You do know we’re Union? Milford AFL-CIO Local 808? You have a problem with that?”

“I don’t see why I would. Unions have a Right to Peaceful Assembly according to The Constitution. I don’t mind gettin’ it on next to the Union steward on stage. We will show our boobs as a sign of solidarity.”

DeWindt writes down “Could be possible problem at the bargaining table but not a rabble-rouser”.

“Mrs. Thorp, we’ll start you out at $11.00/hour and give you a 50 cent raise after 30 days. The $500 signing bonus will be broken down into $250 apiece with the 1st installment paid out after 60 days and the remainder paid out after your probationary status ends after 90 days.”

“Are taxes taken out?”

“Yup, Uncle Sam gouges even us strip joints. BTW, can you fit into 9-foot boots, staple jewelry on your boobs and shake that thang? We do ‘Pinball Wizard’ every weekend and the last dancer injured her tits when she accidentally grazed them on a strobe light on the ceiling.”

“SURE”, trying to be an eager beaver. Do everything they tell you. That’s how you move up the corporate ladder. “I have some 9-foot heels I wore at my high school prom. I’m pretty sure they’re out in the garage.”

“Super!!!!!” as DeWindt is trying to hide his curiosity where she got 9-foot heels, let alone why she wore them.

“Well, that’s all the questions I have for now. I will learn everything there is to know about the company.”

“You got the right attitude. All right, be here tomorrow morning in the Training Room at 7:00AM sharp with your photo ID for your name badge and your Social Security Card. Also, bring a red pen so that you can learn how to fill out time sheets. We do EVERYTHING in red.”

 

BARRY CAN YOU HEAR ME

CAN I HELP TO CHEER YOU

BARRY CAN YOU HEAR ME

CAN YOU SEE ME NEAR YOU

OOOOOO, BARRY, BARRY, BARRY as Barry is escorted by Gil the Bouncer after the former wandered into the Club, thinking the ball diamond was on the same latitude. A jerk has a tendency to get his horse latitudes confused(with apologies to The Doors).

 

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH, BA-BY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY HEART IS FULL OF LOVE AND IT’S ALL FOR YOU

NOW COME ON DOWN AND DO WHAT YA GOT TA DO

 

NO!!!! NO!!!!! DON’T LEAVE ME THIS WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DON’T LEAVE ME THIS WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

NO!!!!!!!!!! DON’T LEAVE ME THIS WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Doris, can I speak to you for a moment? I want to file a grievance. They’re having the dancers low on the Seniority List doing the Midnight Show.”

 

Daffy runs towards the spaceship set to leave Milford Int’l Airport.

“COACH KAZ!!!!!!!! COACH KAZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DON’T GET ON THAT SHIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT ‘M’ ON THE COMPUTER SCREEN IN THE JOURNALISM ROOM!!!!!!!!! IT MEANS  ‘COOKBOOK’ IN KANAMITESE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And Ms. Rizk reveals herself as one of the Kanamits, deftly handling the stilts and the sleeping gas on Kaz, the same sleeping gas that was used on Batman and Robin, indicating that Part One was about to end (The Joker: “How’d I wind up in the Gotham City Correctional Institute? My gang put enough nerve gas on the Dynamic Duo to bring the Statue of Liberty to its knees.”). Coach Kaz is dragged in the ship and the door is sealed and the vehicle heads 29 light-years into outer space, with a potty break on Deneb and lunch at Stuckey’s on Lyra.

“GODDAMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MEAT LOAF AGAIN??????????? THAT’S THE 7TH STRAIGHT DAY I’VE HAD THE STUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND DOESN’T ANYBODY KNOW HOW TO DUMP CHEESE INTO KRAFT GARLIC MAC ‘N’ CHEESE?????????????????” as Coach Kaz throws the dinner to the floor in a cubicle roughly equal to the size of Papa Bader’s living quarters.

A 10-foot Kanamit walks in, straight from his game in the 12-foot-and-Under League. picking up dumped merchandise “Coach Kaz, Coach Kaz, PLEASE, there’s no reason for these needless tantrums. We can get the chef to switch to chicken cordon bleu and baked lasagna with tortellini.”

“And can they make Nestea instead of that swill they brew out of the canister in Milford’s cafeteria?

“I don’t see why not.”

“With Nutrasweet?”

“Of course.”

Consider for your speculation a one Coach Kaz, about to be somebody else’s Peanut Buster Parfait at the Kanamit DQ but enjoying The Good Life in his dying days. The parmesan cheese on his steam-fried London broiled steak and vegetables will expunge his fear of being Blizzard Flavor of the Month, Oreo Blizzard, may we add, at the same DQ drive-thru. Tonight’s bill of fare in…The Twilight Zone.

 

Comment away,gang. I’m going to catch the late show at the Go-Go Club. Mimi ought to be entertaining, certainly more than this plot.

 

I’M THE GYPSY

I’M THE ACID QUEEN

I’M GUARANTEED TO MAKE YOUR

BOY A JERK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“Mimi, you really went to town tonight. I liked how your wedding band bounced so lively between your breasts. And all those beads around your neck.”

“Thanks, Gil. So I heard you had to throw out Mr. Dr. Pearl?”

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Rough Expectations

Well that was anticlimactic.  Given that (1) Barry has been treated like dirt by his teammates, his schoolmates, and his coaches ever since his father’s crash into Addison “Boo, But Not the Boo from To Kill A Mockingbird” Radley (b) no one, not even Counselor Dern, has suggested Barry get help or talk to someone except as a means to generate a lede, and (iii) Rubin has taken a ham-fisted approach to so many of his “ripped from the headlines” arcs only to end them in a flurry of tell-don’t-show moments, I fully expected today’s strip to feature Barry shooting up the halls of Milford High.  Rubin could wipe out underdeveloped and name-dropped characters in one fell swoop and turn the summer arc into a month-long episode of A Very Special Gil Thorp. I even implied as much in my Thursday post.

Art snark aside: Dafne and Bestie Who Looks Like An Extra From Room 222 (not to say that Dafne herself doesn’t look the same from time to time) have each lost a chunky bracelet since yesterday. Dafne and Barry are a bit closer in height than they were previously.

Back on topic: Maybe l’affaire Bader et Dafonte will still erupt in violence.  Maybe the adults in the teachers’ lounge will read the article and see it as the cry for help Barry has so desperately tried to make for the past two years.  Maybe the Nats will stop free falling, turn their season around, claw their way into a playoff spot and finally win a postseason series for once.  None of these things seems likely at the moment, and none of them are going to happen soon enough.

metapost:  timbuys’ Thorp of July post had some of us drifting off in Costello/Lowe reverie and realizing that we may have been in the same room at the same time.  Doubtless, then, the latest news from Mr. MacManus may have hit some of us like a ton of bricks. The news does seem positive, however, and I’m hopeful The Living Elvis will remain living for some time to come, which leads me to…

metapost 2: For the past couple of years I’ve been the Thursday and Saturday poster, a fact that always makes me think of a certain EC song.  As such, I usually end up being the guy who gets to weigh in on an arc’s final strip. Not this time, however.  I’m going to be traveling over the next two weeks, so one or more of my esteemed colleagues will get to see this train wreck into the station.  Thanks for hanging in there with me today.  I leave you with that certain song that almost always comes to mind when I enter the Thorpiverse.

First Responder Timeline (in part)

6:04 am… Three hours from prison, in his comfortable home in Milford, Barry Bader cues up “Pumped Up Kicks” on his smartphone as he loads his backpack with his weapons of choice.  Using a metallic-silver Sharpie, he writes “Dafne,” “Ms. Rizk,” “Coach Kaz,” “Coach Thorp,” “Mrs. Coach Thorp,” and “that greasy-haired kid obsessed with launch angles” on six of the loaded magazines he proceeds to place in the backpack.

Going Crazy Is A Kind Of Progress

Were any of you as surprised as I was to find out that The Secret Pelwecki is the The Secretly Not Such a Bad Student Pelwecki?  No?  I know there’s a trope name for giving a character some hidden talent or strength that had heretofore not been shown, but it’s already mid-morning here and I don’t have time to go down the rabbit hole that is TV Tropes to find it.

Speaking of not going down rabbit holes to find info, who is this unnamed coach at State U to whom Gil is putting in a call on Pelwecki’s behalf?   The glimpse of a #1 banner from last decade suggests that he, like Gil, may be cruising on past glories.  Based on yesterday’s convo with flirty Counselor Dern, Gilberto (looking a little off-model today, kinda like a younger Mojo Nixon sans sideburns) will probably try to talk The Coach Who Shall Not Be Named into letting the ‘Weck walk on.  Maybe Gil should ask him if he’s talked to John Pascoe lately.

It’s not like we’ll find out anytime soon ’cause we’re headed back into the Trumpet office to find out what progress Dafne’s made on the Ballad of the Blameless Baders, i.e., very little.  I’m beginning to think Dafne’s serving as Rubin’s author avatar here: both having painted themselves into a corner pursuing an angle on a story that’s unlikely to get published in a school newspaper IRL, they’re making themselves a little crazy trying to figure out a way to polish this turd.

 

Are We Sure These Kids Aren’t In Prison?

Is it just me, or is everything spoken by Barry and Dafne utter nonsense? Am I reading Gil Thorp or Eugene Ionesco?

I get Panel One, sort of (except that they are in school now, but we’ve chewed all the meat off that bone). It’s awkward for Dafne to give Barry a straight answer so she just humors him instead of telling him that Del is a bitter, unrepentant a-hole.

That’s when it goes off the rails. What are you talking about Barry?? I told you he was sorry. Did Dafne’s non-answer indicate any contrition on Del’s part? We can chalk this up to Barry’s own self-delusion, I suppose.

Then the final panel is full of it. Mr. Bader told me to hug Barry for him. Seriously? He said that?

Dafne’s reaction to the request is equally baffling. But I can’t, it would seem dishonest. Dishonest? How about inappropriate? Nauseating? Maybe, at heart, the whole concept of “give so and so a hug for me” or “say hi for me” is kind of insincere, but I don’t know about dishonest.

Judging by how awkwardly the words are strung together, I’m just going to assume Rubin is as bored and fed up with this plot as the rest of us. I know Dafne’s classmates have zero interest in her story. Year round school really wears you out.

Lately, I’ve Been Thinking Too Much Lately

Oh, Thorpiverse, now stop it. Don’t blindside me with scenery and expect me to decipher it when it’s the weekend and I’m a recovering workaholic. And I haven’t gotten my cup of coffee yet from the neighborhood Taco Bell. Slow down, you’re goin’ too fast. You got to make the morning last.

I ain’t feelin’ groovy trying to set the record straight concerning the environs in P1. (Takes obligatory first swig of Taco Bell Maxwell House medium cup, spits it on the floor from microwave burns on the tongue.) We ARE in the Milford High School journalism room, Ms. Rizk taking a dump from the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich (with mayo and Louisiana Lightnin’ Hot Sauce) she ate at Wendy’s at the faculty lavoratory, and NOT in the second floor of the Milford Enquirer Complex.  Otherwise, Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane are in a useless conversation about Milford Athletics.

And evidently, Steve Luhm, when he’s not taking garbage to the dumpster at Milford High School, is running the buffer at 3:00 A.M. at the complex. You missed a spot, Steve. Yeah, right over there by the right desk leg. And you might wanna spray the place down with Roach-Pruf again. It has the Good Housekeeping Seal plus Paul Harvey adds it to his Folgers along with Coffee-Mate. And I found a roach running by one of the computers displaying an article on the Summer Modeling Show at Milford Fun ‘n’ Fashions.

Then in P2, there’s the Divine Miss Daffy interviewing Daddy Bader and this one’s pumpin’ up the volume, gang. Not sure how a high school rag that is Milford High School could turn her loose and subsequently watch her switch over to “Have you stopped beating your wife lately” questioning.

The COUP DE GRACE!!!!!! That pose Daddy Bader is displaying that is a facsimile of the one that one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence staged that appears on a 50′ x 74′ painting on a wall at your nearest neighborhood museum. Gang, I’ll allow you to insert your favorite Founding Father from the list of Signers of aforementioned Declaration. My money is on Benjamin Franklin but I’ll gladly accept Robert Morris, Samuel Adams, Richard Henry Lee, Button Gwinnett or any of the other 56 Signers in general. Yes, some of you might weigh in with Patrick Henry as Daddy Bader is just as vehement getting out of Sing Sing but, unfortunately, Henry wasn’t one of the Signers. Daddy Bader will have to select another statesman. And we better leave out Thomas Jefferson. He never went to prison and was a better writer than speaker. Plus he shaved every morning.

If ya wind up in prison because yore 4-wheel drive smashed into the meeting room where the Milford Women’s Christian Temperance Union Bar-B-Que Rally was being held and ya wuz 3 times over the limit, ya might be a redneck.

Gang, the title just came to me based upon the tete-a-tete between Lois and Jimmy in P1. And that David Allan Coe tune just won’t flush out of my head. Omigod, am I getting delusional? Will I wind up in a cell next to Daddy Bader? Well, at least I’ll know if he forgot to buy Gillette Atra at the Prison Canteen or if he’s just got a lot on his plate and shaving isn’t a priority. Give ’em to Daffy, Daddy Bader, if you’re not going to use them. They’re like a Poulan Weed-Eater for her hair.

“And Daffy sends a smash out to deep center. IT’S A GRAND SLAM!!!!!!! And the Mudlarks lead Oakwood, 11-0!!!!!!!!! That’s the third homer of the day for the journalist-3rd baseman. Man, Mimi must be using those batting machines at capacity. Daffy is just seeing watermelons up at the plate. Moose better be looking over his shoulder. And Coach T. better be taking notes from his wife. We have a pitching change for Oakwood so we’ll take a commercial break. This is Marty Moon with WDIG, a division of Lear Field Sports.”

In the locker room at Milford Athletic Club one day:

Coach Kaz, looking through his fuschia gym bag, is desperately seeking his Ben-Gay. He’s combed through  it twice and all he finds is his 2x Large jock strap, stop watch, Holiday Inn towel, Wal-Mart wash cloth, comb, earring extractor, Lava, Johnson’s No-More-Cryin’-Like-A-Wimp Shampoo, mail order blow dryer, but no Ben-Gay.

Coach Shaw, fresh from a victory against Mark Trail in handball, inquires “What’s up, Kaz?”

“Aw, dammit, I can’t find my Ben-Gay.”

“Are you still using that sissy stuff? Bubba, you’re gonna smell like a candy cane when you go back to teach class.”

“Shaw, I gotta put something on my back muscles. You know how edgy I get when I feel like I’m constipated and I don’t have time to make it to Milford 7-11 to buy a $5.00 tube before my Intermediate Badminton class.”

“Kaz, you need to try Sportscreme. It has an active ingredient, thenobizonol-acetylate-disulfide-bicarbonate-soda that kills that Ben-Gay odor and soothes and massages your muscles better ‘n’ a vibrator.”

“Okay, so it’ll keep me limber and loose. But you sure I’m not going to overpower my class with that mediciney smell?”

“Bubba, I killed a skunk out in Milford Fish & Wildlife Area and later stuck a Sportscreme tube straight up its butt and gave it a good enema before I had to clean out its innards. Sportscreme snuffed out the stink dead in its tracks. Man, that was some good eatin’ later on, not having to chew the meat with that stench up my nostrils.”

Later, in Dr. Pearl’s office for Kaz’s annual teacher evaluation

“No workout today?”

“Yes, I was pumpin’ iron all morning with special emphasis on my pecs. Why?”

“You usually smell like Ben-Gay.”

“Not any more. The smell went in the same cell as Daddy Bader.”

“Wonderful!!!!! Now, Coach, we think you should use more visual aids in your Lifetime Bowling class…”

Gang, it’s your turn. I am still wondering how Stevie Ray Vaughan wound up in prison but maybe I’m getting old, I don’t know. Anyway, you Guys rock.

“I know no North nor South nor East nor West…”

“Warden, I’m adding 5 years onto his sentence. He keeps insisting he’s Henry Clay.”

Poor Poor Pitiful Del

Abandoning analysis of the absurdities that let a high school student have a conjugal visit with meet and interview an inmate to whom she is not related, let’s focus on what’s being said instead.  Dafne’s casual side eye can only mean one thing: “Now I know where Barry gets it from.”  Nothing is ever the fault of Bader père et fils.

Del’s prison ‘do reminds me of someone else’s but I’m not sure whose. Anyone?  He started sporting a variation of it while he was in county lockup awaiting sentencing.  Del’s lawyer pretty much sucked there, but did clue Del in that he was most certainly not the victim.  So just what kind of bad publicity has Del been getting?  Has anyone else written about him in the Trumpet, the Milford Star, or the Industrial Solvent Sales Monthly?  Sandra Bader been badmouthing him in her Tinder profile?

Since Thursdays have become Rock ‘n Roll Thursdays here in TWIM land, the commentariat will appreciate the inspiration for today’s post.

Great Moments In Milford Journalism

Are not depicted in the above. Please stay tuned in for the inimitable T. Drew Hardin’s commentary coming right up!

In the meantime, please feel free to fire away.

Minus points: Since when did Marjie adopt the poking out ear look?