And its a reasonable fascimile of Marjie Ducey, but not quite as hot, announcing that it was Marty Moon, happening to be walking behind said non-hottie, helping to not advance the plot. You know how far 50 steps behind you is? I work in a pretty big office, and if I took 50 steps from my desk I’d be either outside, or in the dark corner of the PO section. So how the hell she even noticed the dude is beyond me.
And we have Mimi flaunting her fear of Moon possibly walking in on the girls wine party with some freak hand action. None of which advances the plot. So I’m done. Good night folks.
By the way, one of my childhood idols passed away yesterday. The Monkees are now down to 2– good thing I saw them perform in Merrilville a few years ago while they still had each other. It never bothered me that they werent considered a real band. Here’s a tribute to Peter Tork.
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?
First panel Gil announces he followed (stalked) Mike home; well I guess Mike knew about it so it wasnt stalking but still… and Mike s depression is now out in the open, after we farted away half the hoops season trying to figure out what was wrong, AND WE STILL DONT KNOW WHATS CAUSING THE DEPRESSION!!
By the way, nice pepperoni pizza in P1. even though I dont like it (Im a cheese and sausage guy).
And hey, maybe a road game as a reward!? These guys play games less often then the Bears kicker missed field goals. ( 5 games, 7 missed kicks if your keeping score)
So Filion gets to play but the 4 guys who were in on the Fire Gil cover-up (no pun intended) get to sit. As if they havent done enough sitting already. The federal government is busier then the Mudlarks, and they were on shutdown til Trump told them to go back for 3 weeks.
Theyve played 5 games since December 21. FIVE. 2 in December, both losses. Then Bobby Howry put up the billboard. Then they played 3 games in January. They lost all 3.
0-5 after 7 weeks of action. If Milford was a strip club theyd file for bankruptcy.
Filion was slipping in the classroom on January 4. 34 days ago. And it took this long to get counseling. I’d have sent him on January 6, and resumed playing 2 games a week like every other freakin school. By now he’d be back to normal and contributing on a team tuning up for the playdowns. Guess what — my state has its final regular season games this weekend. And these dopes have laced it up 5 times. Whoopee.
We still have the Howry issue to deal with, but its not looking like Filion is in on it like I predicted. And will Milford go winless and can Thorp as Howry wants?? Some of us are saying — Be my guest!
By the way, the groundhog predicted 6 more weeks of bad Milford basketball. His shadow was blocked —- by the billboard.
We’re being asked to fill in a lot of blanks here today. Other than the one caller who called bullshit on their short-term memory loss yesterday, it’s just been Marty and B/Robby taking turns getting their digs in on Gil. (You notice no one ever calls for Kaz’s head? They know he’s liable to track them down and put his fist through theirs.) Do those two take turns running out of the studio and calling in? I suppose between calls Marty can get a bite to eat from the automat that has magically appeared behind his head. Or do Wildcat Maris, Hobart, Barry Bader et al. just have WDIG on speed dial?
WDIG’s station manager seems vaguely aware that this whole kerfuffle is purely Marty’s and The Boy Who Would Be Coach’s doing, but as long as the ad revenue is coming in and he can keep shuffling those invoices, it’s all gravy. Then again he may be waxing nostalgic about how he earned that trophy behind him for being the best Studebaker salesman in the Valley, or planning to order some Haggar slacks to go with that shawl-collared jacket of his while remembering how he used to hold meetings while he was on the can.
Meanwhile, in the Mudlark locker room, the real wheels get set in motion when rando underclassman asks rando seniors to dish the dirt on B/Robby. Howry’s placebo-dealing, Bacon-manipulating backstory will be shared, rando underclassman will call Marty to expose B/Robby on air, WDIG’s engineer will again lose his mind, and Gil’s reputation will be saved without any action on his part. This had better be good.
And if Gil starts bitchin’ and pullin’ out his hair
Ranting and raving like Yogi Bear
And if this game you’re in starts playing different tunes
I’l see you in the booth with Marty Moon
Shout out to Devin Cameron, of Louisville, Kentucky, for his VERY perceptive mind. Our discussion on politics while taking him to work was INTENSE. It is clear he has a VERY brilliant mind and a good head on his shoulders. And he cares about things as well. Without people like Devin, the world would go a little slower because he LOVES to be a working part of our upward march of humanity. Treat him with respect, gang, he’s earned it.
P1-Day 14
“All right, you’re on the air. It’s Psycho Pete from suburban Milford. Go ahead, Pete.”
“That’s PSYCHO Pete to you.”
Marty, a little annoyed, swallows his pride. He needs to get his fan base back and what better way than someone who just received his diploma from the Milford State Hospital.
“Okay. Will do. What’s on your mind, Psycho Pete? Is Gil past the expiration date?”
“A better question is, are YOU past the expiration date? You’ve been second-guessing Gil ever since they launched Sputnik and I’m surprised McCarthy didn’t interrogate you when he was on the witch hunt for the Reds. I was on the Anti-Communist Committee with Kefauver, Stevenson, Nixon, Acheson, Morgenthau, Bretton Woods, Dumbarton Oaks…”
“Wait, wait, wait. Weren’t the last two conferences on, refresh my memory, improving world peace or, maybe, the world economic system? I flunked International Studies at Milford Broadcasting School but I remember those names when we took a pop quiz. Saved my license.”
“Shows how much you know. We were set to sentence you to the chair for all the nasty things you said about Gil back in the ’50’s. At Dumbarton, we were trying to get the OK from the Governor to pull the lever after you remarked that Eisenhower had a hair style like Gil when Ike and McCarthur were classmates at West Point. Low blow, Moon.”
“Look, what this has to do with the present topic-”
“And John Maynard Keynes thought your show needed a pump-priming after the Free Market was allowed to send people to the soup kitchen. Sure, scandalize Gil while someone is at the ticket booth at the Milford Gym asking “Brother, can you spare a dime? I’d have put your show under the Tennessee Valley Authority, for sure.”
“Will you PLEASE get to the p-”
“That’s why, soon as I hang up, I’m going to drive down to the WDIG studio and chop you up. Your goatee oughta be great jowl bacon at Milford Bar-B-Q Shack. The rest I’ll just feed to the hogs on my farm.”
“Now you’re threatening me and I’m gonna call the p-”
“Then I’ll be nice. I’ll just use the chain saw on Peaches. You better hope it’s plugged in cuz Milford Gas & Electric threatened to cut off my electricity. Said I was 3 months behind but if I paid $1,563 of it by this Friday, they wouldn’t send a temp to put a lock on the fuse box. Peaches might not have to die in vain after all. Did you ever play Operation when you were a kid? I hope it doesn’t buzz when I get to her boobs.”
“NOW YOU LEAVE PEACHES ALONE, YOU PSYCHO YOU!!!!!!!!!!”
“That’s my name don’t wear it out.”
“IF I COULD REACH THROUGH THIS TRUE VALUE #2 COPPER WIRE-”
“BTW, to show there’s no hard feelings, I was the one who shot Coach Shaw.”
“NOW we’re getting somewhere. If you’ll reveal your name, WDIG will send you a check for $10,000-”
“$20,000. Still gotta get caught up on the M G & E bill.”
“-$20,000, cashier’s check, no questions asked.”
“Hell, you don’t have to do that. I trust you. A Milford Kwik-ee Mart money order will do. They only cost 79 cents.”
“Whatever, fine. OK, the scoop of my life, the career-saving news item, my retirement nest egg, Psycho Pete, what is your name and where do you live?”
“My name is—————————–”
Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer
“Marty Moon, On Assignment By WDIG Out In Milford Nature Area, Stampeded By A Herd Of Elephants!!!!!!!!!!”
sub head line
“Curator noted they were doing a ritual dance while an East African female was in gestation.”
Shout-out to John Buntain, of Louisville, Kentucky, for losing 80 pounds!!!!!!!!!!!! This was his 3rd straight day of working out and he is DETERMINED. He told me one of the keys to his weight loss was WILL POWER. He just laid off the heavy stuff (burgers, fries, etc.) , no matter how tempting it was to gorge into a Big Mac or Whopper, and exercised a lot. Sounds like a recipe for success. John deserves respect because he did all this while at an oloder age. Sometiomes losing a pound as you get older is TOUGH. But John did it. Got my respect, Big Guy. You da Man.
And as for P2
If these walls could speak
They would tell you that I’m sorryyyyyyy
For being an overarching snake
They would tell you that
This program is sponsored by Shake ‘n’ Bake
If these walls could speak
They would tell you that I owe Gil
Twenty and some dimes at Milford Lounge
They would tell you that I’m only
A jerk, a lout, a scrounge
That’s if these walls could speak.
Dedicated to you, Amy Grant. You make a difference in people’s lives and LIVE your Faith as well. LOVE your music too.
“…a bear on Snuffy Smith’s porch while Jughaid is scratching himself????????”
“Oh, Gil, no wonder why Milford Comedy Club changed the locks. And we’ll take a commercial break. This is Marty Moon. You’re listening to WDIG on Lear Field Sports.”
“Hi, I’m Mr. Wall. I’m literally the front for WDIG. And I can’t afford to have bad breath when I’m on the job. the employees would call in sick and sponsors would defect to WMFD. That’s why I use Industrial-Size Scope. One spray from the Milford Fire Department fire truck hose, a gurgle for 30 seconds, spit it down the sewer and as long as the pipes aren’t stopped up, my breath is horticulturally fresh. I can’t afford to reek embarrassing odors that bring the EPA out of the closet. They have enough to worry about in Gil’s office since I heard he rarely flushes in his personal WC. Imagine doggy-doo on your carpet with a Bucket Rocky Road Shake spread all over it with a heat lamp bearing down on it, magnified by a power of 10, carry the one, and you get the idea.
Try Industrial-Sized Scope today. Now available in Mint or Creamy Apple Cider at Milford Pharmacy, home of the 99 cent X-Lax. Constipation has met its Waterloo.”
Thanks to Sarcastic Jack for help with the above idea. He’s a funny guy who feeds me great ideas. He proves no man is an island. Can’t do this post alone, trust me. Sarcastic Jack is one of the little help from my friends.
The lunatic is on the mike
The lunatic is on the mike
He’s doling out programs about ‘Larks lack of game
And every game the head usher brings more
You lock his door
And cut off his podcast
You rearrange his head
Cuz this won’t last
And if Boob won’t shut up and seek real jobs
Besiege his screed with angry mobs
And if he won’t shut up about Gilbert’s lack of shrewd
I’ll see him rambling in the booth with Marty Moon
The laughter you hear is Boob making fun of Gil’s coaching in a padded cell somewhere on the grounds of Milford State Hospital. Sometimes having no life catches up with you. Or gets you run over by Babar’s family, as Marty proves.
All that you shoot
All that you root
]All that you miss
All you dis
All you rebound
And all that you bounce
All that you front
Block, box out, or steal
All you deny
And all you post up
All you tech up
All you pass
All that you bank
And all that you brick
All that you tank
All balls you kick
All the time outs
20 seconds or full
All plays you call
All you ball
And all you fast break
And every press you break
All that you swish
And everything you take out of bounds
Is the game
But the game is eclipsed by ol’ Moooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnn
The scoreboard clock is ticking while Luhm is heard to say
“Man, why doesn’t Marty clean up after himself? I’ve never seen so many used-up coffee filters under the press box. Whew!!!!!!! Pewwwwwweeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!! Is that coffee grinds in tne corner???? That isn’t urine I smell, is it? I always wondered why he had both arms under the booth during a 20-second time out. Thank God it’s all dark, hard to tell.
WE ARE MILFORD’S KIDS. A MILLION STRONGGGGG AND GROWING
“Y’know, every time I hear that song, I’m thankful for our future generation. But sometimes that can be a problem when you have prior commitments and you still gotta watch the kids. Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Milford Beverage Warehouse. Don’t let babysitting detail impede you from The Good Life. The Warehouse is proud to announce that every Friday night from 7-10 is Kid’s Night Out. You heard right, when you purchase any bottle of booze, your child, as part of the Kids Drink Free promo, will receive a free soft drink of his/her choice. Oh boy, if you use that Visa Gold for Crown Royal Whiskey, the kids get a Mr. Pibb on the house. And all you have to do is show proper ID at the door and the kid present their Student ID. But hey, we’re not picky around here. If you have no prior convictions, your child can bring his/her Jungle Book lunch box and as long as it his has his/her name on it, why, come on in, the liquor’s fine. Just clean the Jif Peanut Butter stains is all we ask, for health reasons. We don’t want anybody getting germs off Chateau Ste. Michelle Blackberry Wine. Mmmmmmm, mmmmmmmm, Jim Beam Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey tastes a little sweeter when ya see the kids downing a Choc-ola. I know, because when Mimi went to her basketball seminar in Minneapolis to talk about improving the 5-game schedule so that the hotels wouldn’t be overbooked, I got left hangin’ with Keri and Jaime when it was Strip Poker Night at my house. No problemo, I just hauled off the kids to Mecca and got a couple of cases of Samuel Adams Boston Lager, a case of Bud Light Lime in the 24-pack and a bottle of Svedka Imported Swedish Vodka for Kaz. Some people love blowing their guts out while playing Old Maid. The kids were treated to Bud canes and some licorice, given generously by Bud Man who made an appearance and signed autographs for the kiddies and the kids at heart. They all washed it down with a Fresca. AND they went inside the Bud House, that’s right, a free-standing structure where the kids can go in and float around all over the place. NOW they know what it’s like when Daddy is hung over and the living room starts spinning. Golly gee, Chuck E. Cheese’s can’t do that. They just have humanoid bears trying to act like KISS and they serve refried pizza. I’d be blowin’ smoke like Gene Simmons on that pepperoni specimen, fer sure. C’mon, everybody, take the family down to the Milford Beverage Warehouse. I just lost my shirt and boxer shorts that night after Coach Shaw showed a full house and the kids went off to La La Land with their Bud Man teddy bears. And the Milford Girls Basketball team will be staying in a Motel 6 from now on. Hey, Me and Tom Bodette will leave the light on for you.
But Coach Thorp is eclipsed by the Mooooonnnnnnnnnnnn
Whoops, oh well, same difference. At any rate, comment away. Booby should end his vigil by the time the skating marathon begins. He can’t bitch forever. I wouldn’t think.
P3-Remember that Martian that was Bugs Bunny’s nemesis? I claim this gym in the name of Mars. Maybe they can work out an exchange program and send Gil up for a coaching symposium. Send Booby the Martian back for a permanent lobotomy. It could happen.
Nothing like knowing as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow that we have more Howry BS in our future. This dudes been hanging around Milford for 4 years after he allegedly graduated, and it took him this long to finally have a real opinion about the Milford hoops program. Where the hell was this in ’16?? in 17?? in 18?? Oh yeah, everything takes longer in Milford.
Hey Gil– its YOU who needs to snap your guys out of their 1-game “funk”. But 1 game isnt a funk is it? Nope. And I already detailed how defense comes first in basketball, and you rest on offense, meaning the point guard isnt necessarily the igniter for the team. Everyone has to play defense, and the offensive flow will naturally follow after that is done. But Gil cant tell Mike that. And the fact that a team really needs more then 1 point guard is beside the point here, (no pun intended) as in Milford bench players are rarely contributors at all, which explains a lot of the general underachieving clubs of recent years. The next time Moon (or Howry) talks about that on his show will be the first.
Mike with one hand over his ear reminds me of the Joe Paterno interview on the radio after the Penn State scandal hit the news. When queried about his involvement in Jerry Sanduski’s activities behind closed doors, Paterno suddenly couldnt understand the radio guys’ questions, and responded – “I cant hear a word you’re sayin.” That phrase is actually my ringtone.
And Gils fingers appearing to be in Mikes other ear top off the lunacy of Gils coaching methods. Send Mike to the guidance counselor and worry about coaching basketball you moron.
Marty, I wouldn’t be showing my face ANYWHERE, let alone on your radio show. Anything you’re doing now is licking the table scraps of meat loaf and mashed potatoes off your Broyhill King Louis XIV collection, a table you more than likely hocked from Versailles Palace when the French Revolution was taking a potty break. Of course, you do that anyway but at least in times past you used plastic silverware. Don’t forget to send your table cloth to the dry cleaners when you’re done licking.
Honestly, Patton was right: “I never admired a man who lost and laughed.”
So why are we digging for more roaches when there’s plenty scurrying around in Moon’s booth and beyond but then roaches and Marty are pretty synonymous with each other. Yeah, I guess that’s only logical. Roaches of a feather flock together. Who better than roaches to dig up more garbage out of the roaches garbage can and broadcast that garbage on the GBN (Garbage Broadcasting Network-I don’t think one of their sponsors is Raid) ? Go ahead, King of the Roaches, keep scooping after you’ve been scooped. That’ll make up for lost time for sure. By the time you’re done, the EPA ought to be in on this cesspool. Scoop, you are King in your court. BTW, you might want to spray your throne with D-Con again, I saw a couple scurrying on the arm rest.
I mean, really, what more do we need to know NOW since the cat is pretty much out of the bag? We know that The Man Who Billboarded Too Much is a malcontent who never heard of School Board meetings and would rather go the Your Ad Here route, able to finance it from his World’s Finest Chocolate sales (Lord, the number of doors he must have knocked on) , changes his name once again to Robb, like we really like keeping track of all his sobriquets or even have the time in that regard (God, which one does he use to endorse checks he’s going to cash?) , trying to get Gil fired. Take a number, Robberto.
Scoop, we’ve done read about the Watergate break-in. No sense in interviewing Ehrlichman and Haldeman on WDIG to see if they’re going to wiretap Dr. Pearl’s teleconferences with the New Thayer and Oakwood principals. But I wouldn’t put it past you to try. Roaches are like that. Cut your losses, Archy, and I don’t mean the one whose friends with Jughead.
Okay, you whippersnappers, the group is Procol Harum and the tune is “Conquistador”. Gil had him over for dinner to relive old times. Marty, don’t try to scoop this. Call Orkin and do some extra spraying in your booth.
Conquistador, your team is bad
In need of some recruits
The situation’s all bogged down
Better wipe those muddy boots
A forward is a name you use
On your mail, not basketball
And a center just plays catch
After gulping Adderall
And though we hope for
Action to find
We can see no
Movement in kind
Though we hope for
Plays to unwind
We can see noooooo
Motion in mind
The Milford Symphony Orchestra and Procol Harum making a great team on the interlude. Is there a message here, Gil and Kaz?
Conquistador, a vulture sits
On your bench with the subs
Waiting for this plot to rot
Grind it to little nubs
Peyton Place is wearing thin
Basketball scurried out of town
Practice now is all that’s left
Waiting for the ref to count
And though we hope for
Action to find
We can see no
Rebounds to time
Though we hope for
Dunks through the twine
We can see nooooooo
Dishin’ the dimes
Coach Shaw and his jazz guitar trying to keep up with Robin Trower on the guitar solo. I think the hare will beat the tortoise this time.
Conquistador, there is no tale
We’d love to give respect
Though we entered the gym so proud
We leave now with regret
I see your armor-plated hair
Has long since lost its sheen
And though you came with whistle held high
You did not sizzle
Only fry
And though we hoped for
Action to find
We just saw no
Movement in kind
Though we hoped for
Any ghost of a sign
We just saw nooooooooo
Basketball Times
Robb ending with the trumpet flourish, only getting pelted with tomatoes for his squeegie on Gil while Procol Harum get a well-deserved round of applause along with the Milford Symphony Orchestra. Actions have consequences, Howry.
And this Conquistador, to no one’s surprise, isn’t doing a great job of convincing Los Guerreros that the 10 million Francescos on the other side of Les Montaignes Pyrennes are wussies who get dropped off at the day-care center by their mothers, Mama’s boys to the nth degree. Mis hombres, you’ll just need your BB guns this time. We oughta be able to clean house and kick some tail within the time McDonald’s stops serving breakfast. Pack Lightly. Not to worry, Gunnery Sergeant Highway took the Alps while Rambo and his gumbahs routed Neuschwanstein. We’re covered.
While we’re still agape observing Seneca struggling to persuade the plebians that Augustus Caesar’s centurions are not going to raid your fridges and will leave 10% of foodstuffs you stored for the winter as compensation for all the virgins that are no longer virgins, isn’t it time Thorpiverse refreshes our memory on what a basketball court looks like? Stopping short at the locker room, out of apparent efforts to appease our preference of basketball games actually being played vs. Falcon Crest, really isn’t cutting it. When I find myself wishing for Dickie V’s glossary of Diaper Dandies, Dunkeroos, Slam-Bam-Jam, Cupcake City because Dark Shadows has run its course, you know eventually the basketball-starved are going to revolt. For they march out to Bastille Day, like the group Rush used to sing.
It’s like the used car salesman talking about the Rolls Royce (Sorry, Dickie V, i forgot to add in Rolls Royce Programs) with 200,000 miles on it by showing his son’s Tonka Truck collection.
“Now if you’ll ignore the crane, the emergency brakes are on the left. We replaced the brake shoes so the toy truck and the Royce shouldn’t roll down the mountain again. And these brake pads are not cheap K-Mart Blue Light specials. We went to Pep Boys this time (“People like us, Tonkas LOVE us”) .
And it’s bad enough that we’re in the locker room. Players getting dejected, especially after a winnable game is understandable (Trust me, being a high school booster and coach forever, I UNDERSTAND) but is it too much to ask Thorpiverse to sow WHY they’re dejected? For all we know, they kicked the shit out of Jefferson but just got informed by their traveling (only in Thorpiverse is previous word used as a non-basketball word) academic counselor that they have to write a 1000-word essay on “How I enjoyed basketball over Christmas Break”, double-spaced, 4 inches from the left margin, due tomorrow. I’d be bummed too if I did a poster job on somebody, then just discovered that they moved my SAT exam up to midnight tonight. Are those #2 pencils still in my locker, next to my soap dish?
I repeat, Thorpiverse, a funeral advertisement in the middle of the strip to sponsor “Another World” is just kidding yourself. We’re not seeing rebounds but burial expenses, we’re not seeing free throws made but the organ playing “Funeral March” by Chopin, we’re not seeing assists nor steals but the preacher saying the basketball plot did not die in vain but is in a better place. Yeah, stick the fouls and turnovers into the jar of ashes and dump it all out into Mudlark Lake from Kaz’s Evinrude.
One final rendering on this topic. Remember when Deacon Jones sold the Dairy Queen “More Burger than Bun” concept?
“When I want a burger, I’ll go to Dairy Queen. And when I want bread, I’ll go TO A BAKERY.”
So here we go, Deacon Jones kind enough to do another promo with some alterations
“When I want basketball, I’ll turn the remote on my Magnavox to ESPN for North-Carolina-Duke, Kentucky-Louisville, UCLA-Arizona, Indiana-Purdue and so on. And when I want soap, I’ll go BUY SOME LIFEBUOY!!!!!!!!!”
I’ll put some Irish Spring in your stocking, Deacon, no problem.
“We’ll take a commercial break. I’m talking with H.R. Haldeman about how he broke into Gil’s office and planted Milford DeLuxe Smut under his playbook so that people might take him for Pee Wee Herman and get Gil fired. We’ll have more after this. Don’t go away.”
“Hi, I’m Marty Moon. Y’know, battling to not get outscooped by the Milford Elementary 8th grade newspaper can sap your energy. That’s why Kellogg’s Raisin Bran uses 2 scoops in every box. That and a tall boy of Michelob Dark and I get my second wind, interviewing the School Bully before the punk kid reporter gets out of gym class. Don’t get outscooped by Lucky Charms. Plenty of green clovers and yellow hearts but no raisins. Start your day off right with Kellogg’s Raisin Bran.”
Then there’s that painting in P1 where it appears Patrick Henry is orating his “Give me Basketball or give me Death!!!!!!!’ speech while our forefathers are sitting on the bench, gettin’ pumped for the game. Is that Benjamin Franklin with the cane in his Nikes? Aw, shucks, I forgot, he’s injured. Too much carousing in France might get the Northwest Territory but it’s Hell on the ACL. And I swear, Charles Pinckney displays the ugliest-looking jock strap. Put your shorts back on, Pinckney, there are ladies present. Plus the delegation from Belgium is due to show in the 3rd quarter. After the game, couldn’t you imagine Elbridge Gerry coming out of the shower with just a towel and a blow dryer? Ids that where we get Gerrymandering from, i.e., a path leading from the shower head to your locker, hoping Daffy Duck isn’t snooping for a story? Talk about rewriting history.
At Independence Hall in Philadelphia, Joe Tourist scoping the art
“Who’s that man that looks like Engelbert Humperdinck and why is he shaking hands with Thomas Jefferson? Was he the one who did the Louisiana Purchase?”
Last, but CERTAINLY not least, is P3. Marty, it’s bad enough that Peter Brady outscooped your ass on Mr. Price’s sexual advances towards Alice the maid but when you’re interviewing some kid barely out of high school, attempting to extract a tell-all tabloid in the name of getting Gil fired, that’s plain sad. I’ve already lectured y’all on the School Board route so let me cut through the Bucket Crunchy Frog Shake and say you could pull John Q. Public off the streets of Milford, stow him in a communist debriefing room next to Ms. Rizk’s room on the second floor, and in 3 weeks get him to say Gil should be fired because he hasn’t changed his Jockey Brand underwear in 6 months. Boy, I’d like to see the contingent rally ’round the flagpole on that one wouldn’t you?
Why don’t we just go to the Milford Correctional Facility and give Otis the Drunk a police escort to your studio, splash him with Old Spice Beer Breath Fighting After Shave so he doesn’t stink up your studio, literally and figuratively, and let him slosh for 2 hours how Gil couldn’t walk the straight line when the Milford Police pull him over when designing a matchup zone? He really isn’t qualified to speak on Gil’s coaching any more than The Great Schnozzola we’re seeing now in the studio and that’s the point. Don’t have them in the same booth at The Bucket. As Jimmy Durante a/k/a The Original Great Schnozzola Who’s Too Busy Entertaining To Launch Billboard Campaigns would say “Dat’s moral turpentine!!!!!!!!”
“We’ll be right back after these messages. I’m talking with Count Chocula about his feelings towards Gil. I agree, Count, Gil’s coaching is worse than Boo-Berry swirling in sour 2% milk. This is WDIG. Don’t go away.”
“Hi, this Coach Thorp for Milford Beverage Warehouse. Has post-Christmas party blues got you down? Stuck with that bowl of Stove Top Stuffing in your fridge in your office and nothing to imbibe? Well, shoot, I have the answer. If you’ll return any of the leftover office party grub to Milford Beverage Warehouse, we’ll give you a voucher good on your next purchase of Drewry’s Lite or Budweiser 1893 Original Formula, both in 12-packs. No sense in leaving that Papa John’s Pepperoni Pizza that’s been in your purse for 10 days when you can sanitize the damn thing and purchase a slice of The Good Life. Goodness, makes me want to return that 1/4 block of Cracker Barrel Provolone Cheese I left in the den. Come on, admit it, you stole that 24-pack of Mudlar-K-Cola Root Beer & Horse Radish right from under your boss’s nose but if you return it to the Warehouse, no warrants will be issued and, shoot, The Warehouse will throw in a free can of Milford Vending Beer Nuts. That and a Bud to wash it down? Time to come clean on that pound of Amish potato salad you’re letting vegetate out in your garage.
But hurry, this deal won’t last long. The deal ends by the end of January and if you want your resume clear of any trivial wrongdoing, ya gotta act now. Come on, Grandma, bring in that fruit cake you shoplifted from Milford Bakery back in ’63 because you were hungry at Yuletide and the Bud Man will call it even. Sounds like a winner. Milford Beverage Warehouse. We’re changing Milford’s perception on exchanging gifts, one customer at a time.”
Gang, comment away. Some of you have already and I really appreciate it. You make Democracy work. in the interim, I’m going to Milford Beverage Warehouse to see if I can exchange my Pay-Day collection for some Bourbon. Doesn’t hurt to ask.
“And we’ll be back after this. I’m interviewing The Invisible Man and you’re right, Gil’s coaching is invisible. This is WDIG. Don’t go away.
“Hi, I’m Marty Moon. Even if I got outscooped by Pogo Possum from the Okefenokee Daily Swamp over Gil’s getting attacked by Albert Alligator while he was fly-fishing, there’s a scoop ready for me at Milford Ice Cream & Dream Shoppe. A double-dip scoop of Rocky Road will help erase the memory of Churchy Lafemme getting that exclusive on Kaz’s catfish battles. And a single scoop of Neopolitan hits the spot when you’re competing with Howland Owl for that story on Beauregard Bugleboy’s sex change. Then there’s the banana splits. You don’t need scoops for that one, thank God, or my boss would give me a permanent suspension. Wouldn’t have to worry about using profanity on the air anymore, dammit. Oops, darnit, sorry, read the script wrong. Anyway, come to Milford Ice Cream and Dream Shoppe, where getting scooped is tasty and won’t lose your job.”
From a story about a police officer who’s a mother and pulled over her son who was speeding, gave him a ticket and kissed him
Joe Friday and Bill Gannon catch Joe Friday Jr. trying to steal Gil’s stuff out of his house. Joe Jr. is in Gil’s driveway, trying to close the trunk of his Vega on the wide screen TV he is hocking, plus miscellaneous trophies in the back seat
“Police!!!!!!!!! Freeze!!!!!!!!!!”
Joe Sr. approaches Joe Jr., the latter with his hands to the sky, and kisses him square on the cheek.
“Awwwwwwwwrriggghtttt, Gannon, read him his rights, then book him on a Section 56, Article 12 of the Milford Police Code, ‘Attempt To Steal Merchandise From a Public Official During Half Time’.”
A convergence of souls is upon us. Marty has tricked out his crate and added the busted Venetian blinds his mom had put on the curb to make it look like he has a window to the outside world. He’s invited Ricky Bobby Robby Howry (aw, shoot, I’m calling him B/Robby from here on) over and is using his erector set to pass B/Robby a beer while he sips hooch from his trademark sippy cup. That begs the question: is Howry old enough to drink? Just how old is Howry, anyway?
We only saw B/Robby in the winter 2014-15 arc. For the sake of this post let’s assume he was a senior then. Also assuming he followed a traditional postsecondary educational path, that would make him a senior at a four-year college so, okay, yeah, he’s probably old enough to drink. I’m also curious as to where B/Robby is getting his money to bankroll robbyreport.com and the Three Billboards Outside Milford; if the richness is only in the words, we’re not talking about very much money. Anyhoo that would require me to put more effort into postulating on his backstory than I have time to today.
I could also spend time thinking about how noble Gil will fight off this tag team (hoping against hope for a Herk the Mauler redux), defend his honor and discredit B/Robby in one fell swoop but, again, ain’t got time for that. I will speculate, however, that B/Robby’s next move is not to try to take over Gil’s job but Marty’s, with the goal of becoming Milford’s King of All Media.
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