This Week in Milford

February 27, 2018

I’ve Been in the Station with a Man With No Name, It Felt Good to Just Soak in the Fame.

Filed under: actual action, basketball, big arms, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 4:45 am


Aaaaaaaaaaaaa, your mother puts soy sauce on her refried beans!!!!!!! Boy, gang, that felt good. I am pumped like Marty to catapult some more mud at Georgie, The Dove(thank God she ran for cover to her tent in her backyard), Krusty’s niece, Ernie, and whoever else attempts to play King of the Hill on the playground at recess with the WDIG god himself, under the pretext of political correctness. So Jorge had nothing to do with this back-and-forth melee. Who cares? Mudslinging takes no prisoners.

I’m beating this in the ground, I realize but Anonymous Calculus Dude a/k/a Herb Tarlek (as duly noted by Ned, good one, BTW, I’d forgotten about WKRP and glad you brought it up) is beginning to worry me. He’s not just passing through, briefcase in hand, returning to Levittown on the planet Oblivion after conversing with a Thorpiverse main character, such as Marty Moon. No, he’s got his own coffee mug with the WDIG Good Housekeeping Seal IN HIS OWN OFFICE!!!!!!!!!! How’d he swing THAT by Marty? Usually they come out of the walls when the janitor’s closet is locked but noooooooooo, Herb is evidently livin’ large in his own corner of the world, with a view of the WDIG Hall of Fame on top of that.  What’s his secret? Are pinstripes and Gucci shoes on the horizon? Lexus for the company car? Don’t have to fill out a W-2 form every time he appears in the strip? Next thing ya know, he’ll have his own Mr. Coffee and won’t have to sneak a brew or two out of Marty’s office. The price of moving up in the corporate ladder. Things take time.

And you whippersnappers are in for a treat as Sister Mary Elephant returns to Milford. Let’s listen.

“Okay, classsss, classssss, be quiet, class, classsssss, SHUT UPPP!!!!!!!! Thank you. Okay, class, your homework assignment is   a 1000-word essay, ‘How I spent my weekend in my backyard’. I want it typed and double-spaced, 8 1/2 x 11 stenographic sheets, use good grammar and punctuation, due on Monday”

“Oh, no way, Sister. Man, all I ever do in my backyard is smoke reefers in my tent, eat Twinkies and Beanie Weenies, wash it down with a Yoo-hoo, and listen to Marty Moon run down all us Puerto Rican’s.  I mean, he’s a prick. You expect me to write 1000 words about that moron?”

“Now, claassssss, I know you got it in you. One of you might be the next Thackeray.”  “Say who???”


“Sister, I don’t know about this Jackie Ray or Jack a Train, or whatever, but if he’s like ol’ Marty, I’m gonna punch his lights out.”

“Now, claassssss, be creative, use some poetry, it doesn’t have to be cold writing. Show some feeling!!!!!!”

“Sister, I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!!!! I GOT IT!!!!!!!!!

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Look out, Anonymous Calculus Dude

’cause I done peed on your shoes.”

And why do we have to have a basketball game, literally in the middle of the strip, when the Gladitorial stage of the mudslinging is just heating up? Do you pull the refried beans out of the microwave well before the beeper says “Done”? Why can’t we just skip it, heck, we’ve relegated basketball(football, baseball, lacrosse, hockey, etc.) to second class anyway, and just beeline to THE MAIN EVENT!!!!!!! C’mon, Thorpiverse, I was beginning to get interested and Jorge drives for a layup, of all things.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa, your mother drives a Bueno Product truck when she’s on vacation to the Smokies!!!!!!!!!!!! YESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!! Score another one!!!!!!!!!!!! If I get good enough, I’ll be on the Hall of Fame wall for sure, right between Herb and Marty. Mudslinging is not for the faint of heart. If you want to be on the porch with the big dogs, ya gotta suck it in.

If ya have had yore fill of the Krabmeat Enchilada and ya get the El Nopal Super-Size Doggie Bag ta take home ta feed yore bloodhounds, further validating the term “doggie bag”, and then proceed to sprinkle  some White Queso Sauce on yore Schlitz later on while watching Dallas in yore recliner chair, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Moon in Hot Water over Gaffe with Milford El Nopal!!!!!!!!!!”

sub head line.

“What’s the big deal? I complained to the waiter that there was half a roach in the Quesadilla Fajita del Pollo and this jackass reporter in the next booth starts typing.”

My final (reluctantly speaking) installment in Black History Month is Arthur Crudup, a very talented Bluesman, noted for writing excellent Blues standards, such as “Mean Old ‘Frisco Blues'”, “So Glad You’re Mine”, “My Baby Left Me”, and “That’s All Right”. The last one was famously recorded by Elvis Presley and became a smash hit. I am angered and outraged that he did not get just financial compensation for his music. In fact, he wound up in later life working as a barge worker, all the while suing the companies that took him to the cleaners. He died in 1974, litigation still in the works. Please spread the word about a man who deserved better.  Love your music, Big Guy.

Racism can be eliminated when we realize we can’t do everything but we can do SOMETHING. If EVERYBODY would do SOMETHING, hate becomes a thing of the past. We can then look forward with hope.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’ll be reading some more “2000 More Insults” if you need me. Gotta stay sharp.


February 22, 2018

That Marty, Tener Tostones!

Filed under: Gil Thorp, hideous scar faces, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — teenchy @ 7:34 am


New Old Cartoon Villain Marty is not only culturally insensitive, he’s petty. He does realize he owes his entire reason for being in Milford to teenagers, doesn’t he?

I’m hoping against hope that this story ends with Marty homeless and eating out of the dumpster behind That New Mexican Restaurant. I’d be good with him reduced to waiting tables at That New Mexican Restaurant™ and getting a beatdown from the kitchen staff once they realize who he is.  I’m afraid even that would be asking too much. No, this crap will go on for a few more weeks until alpha male Gil delivers a pithy two-panel sermon to beta male Marty and Marty, in turn, delivers an on-air apology to the Padilla kids. No jobs lost, no lessons learned, no consequences for anyone involved – and no Reuben Award for Rubin.

February 17, 2018

Munenhausen By Proxy


Oh great. Mar-TEEN – er, Marty – thinks Jorge put Karina and Ernie Duncan up to confront him about butchering his name. This is the first Jorge’s heard of this, of course, so he’s totally within his rights to head-bobble. Not only does he deny knowledge of the issue (in a visually imperceptible Georgia drawl, I imagine), he provides further proof of his cultural assimilation by throwing up a classic Milfordian non-confrontational, flat-palmed freak hand at Marty (and maybe at Marty’s bespectacled Oakwood counterpart next to him).

I’m really kind of disappointed with the way Rubin’s turned this response to Marty’s on-air jackassery into a game of telephone. If he’d sent Paloma, not Duncan, to WDIG with Karina, this conversation wouldn’t even be happening; the Dove would have sent Marty crawling back to the safety of his crate. Hell, I still don’t think anybody in the real world of today would’ve gone directly to the offending party before having their beef with them. Soon as one of these kids finds out “Moon” is short for Munenhausen, the schnitzel will hit the fan.

Speaking of beef, whaddya think is going on with the couple in the stands behind Jorge? I’ve seen that hands-on-hips stance from mrs. teenchy from time to time, and it’s never a good sign.

February 15, 2018

Nevertheless, He Persisted


Boy, is Rubin laying it on thick with Marty or what? P1: Karina already pronounced Jorge’s first name correctly; Marty blatantly ignores her and tells her to talk to the cardboard hand behind his cardboard back.  P2: Marty throws out an excuse for mispronouncing Jorge’s name on the fly, which just serves to make him look even more ignorant. (Note that this is a complete 180 from Uncle Gary’s attempt to make Rick Soto more marketable.) P3: Marty then puts his feet up on the desk and shows the kids the soles of his feet, a gesture considered the height of rudeness in many parts of the world.

I appreciate the naiveté Rubin has built into the Karina Hartley character. I’m sure she’s meant to be nervous about confronting Marty, which is why Silent Duncan Levin is along for the ride. I’d have picked Rick Soto, myself, since he knows a thing or two about concussions and is probably better-equipped to deliver one to Marty. Duncan appears to be another name-dropped lawyer in the pantheon of Neal’s name-droppings, and one with a pretty stellar CV. Maybe he’s here to teach Marty a little bit about asset forfeiture.

I also appreciate the naive tack these two have taken to trying to set Marty straight. Approaching the offending speaker directly is the polite way to go about it, but not the most likely one in today’s climate. Since it looks like it’s gonna be ineffective, I expect Nina, Silent Duncan, Paloma and the rest of the Milford Politically Aware Contingent® to go after Marty the way they might have in the first place: with articles in the Milford Trumpet and Milford Star (by going to Marjie Ducey with the story), with protest posters at the games (worked on Ryan Van Auken, didn’t it?), and with a violent Tweetstorm. What kind of tweets do you all think would take Marty down? I’ll throw out a few hashtags:




February 14, 2018

In Which One Of The Basics Of Spanish Pronunciation Is Learned

Filed under: Fontastic, freak hands, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — timbuys @ 10:35 am


Panel 1: I was gonna call the dude on the left Glasses McDiaperJeans, but I am informed by Ned in yesterday’s comments that he is one Duncan Levin. I wonder if there is some sort of Chekhov’s Duncan Levin principal which requires that he go off in Act 3. As it is, he appears to be checking out of the conversation and who could blame him, really?

Panel 2: That the speaker doesn’t identify as a student and/or classmate of Jorge suggests to me that the window is in fact chiming in, having to daily bear witness to Marty’s ramblings.

Panel 3: Or the speaker was Karina’s forehead? Well, explains the knit cap she was previously sporting. While we’re here, is that a promotional poster? The stenciling on Marty’s office door? Help me out here.

Bonus points (Panel 2 edition): The font is really out there and, I can only assume, that we are given WDIG’s frequency as 77′ in the MM band (AKA the double Golden Arches band).

Bonus question (Panel 2 edition): 35 TWIM points to whomever correctly identifies the year, make and model of that car.

February 13, 2018

This Plot Is Stupid But It Sure Is Fun

Filed under: Boredom in Milford, Fontastic, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — tdrewhardin @ 4:07 am


Sometime in Winter 1998

“…Jalen into the Big Fella. He’s got a Double team. Kicks it back out to Padilla. 10 on the shot clock. Padilla into D Squared. Nothing doing. 6 on the shot clock. Skip pass to Jackson. 3 on the shot clock. Jackson cross-court pass to Padilla. GEORGIE FOR 33333333333…”                              “BOOM BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”                                What coulda been. And to think I am getting more basketball in my memory, courtesy Mark Boyle and Slick Leonard, than I am from The Dove who is, as I believe one of our writers mentioned the other day, is basketball’s version of Dafne Dafonte, or affectionately operating under her sobriquet, Daffy Duck.

Dove, how can I put this? Hmmmm, well, y’know, I think it kinda sorta goes like this, y’see, if you weren’t under the bleachers fomenting a rebellion in the name of Chairman Mao, Cesar Chavez, Ho Chi Minh, Groucho Marx(oops, wrong Marx family), Abraham Lincoln, Curt Flood, Buzz Sawyer(I guess comic strip characters form unions too), yada, yada, yada, you might be able to locate the broadcast booth, the one with a microphone on the table, and, granted, it would take a little doing as it would be semi-tough to squeeze your protest in while Mr. Moon, or your favorite local broadcaster(one is alloted in every town by dint of the basketball gods’ distribution plan-from each according to a town’s basketball roster to each according to the size of the crowd, as long as Marxism is creeping in among us) but they do eventually take a break(commercials factor into the equation) so feel free to notify Mr. Moon at the first commercial advertising Milford Heating and Cooling. And what is the deal sending SOMEBODY ELSE to make the correction? Are there more out in the hallway just as upset and itchin’ for a scrap? Are they sharing a Sanka with Mr. Anonymous Calculus Dude from yesterday in the WDIG break lounge? Is the break lounge just as posh as WDIG’s digs?

Heard on somebody’s radio as a driver is going to work, third shift at the local factory

“…the Big Fella finds an open Whore-Hay FOR 333333333333!!!!!!!!!!!!!…”                      “BOOM BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!”                                       “THAT’S JORGE, YOU IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!! THAT’S TWICE NOW!!!!!!!! GET IT CORRECTLY  OR I’M SUING!!!!!!!!!!”          And telling Milford’s version of J. R. Ewing where to drill for oil around rural Mudlarkland? Good luck with that. You might as well tell Jesse James where to shoot his brother when Jorge(don’t have a cow, Man) is staring down the barrel of a Colt 45. You DID notice the Falcon Crest surroundings, Karina and Duncan, no?

“…re-vo-LUT-ion, weeellll, ya know, we all do with what we cannnnn                                       But if ya have pictures of Anonymous Calculus Guuuuyyyyyyyyy                                  All I can tell you is, Brother, to just stand by                                                                   Cuz ya know it’s gonna be ALL RIGHT…”

Since the plot is once again in neutral with the engine running, a quick shout-out to the Austin, Indiana Fuel Mart who keep my humor going and got some great food in the bargain. You brighten a lot of people’s day.                                                         And since there’s no basketball on the horizon today, I will salvage today’s strip with another song, and believe me, I tried to resist, but you know us Todd Rundgren fans. Gotta strike while the opportunity arises. Sung to “We Gotta Get You a Woman”


Jorge, boy, is that you?

I’m glad your Nerfhoop days are through

Slam dunk things that block your view

Do it all

With the ball

There’s only thing left they gotta  dooo

It’ll help the Mudlarks to pull throughhhh



We gotta make you a starter

It’s like nothing else for ailing plots to keep it aliiivvvveeeee

We gotta make you a starter

You better report in

You’re wasting time snortin’



Talking ’bout staaannndding at the free throw line(wah wah oooooo)

2 shots with everything on the line(wah wah oooooo)

Sink both of them and you’ll be fine

And Milford will be primed to get this thing together(get this thing together)


We gotta make you a starter, etc.

And when the day is through

Game ball goes to youuuuu.


Today’s Black History Month person is Mary Fields or affectionately known as Stagecoach Mary. She delivered mail for several years, under contract with the United States Postal Service, to central Montana during the late 1800’s. She NEVER missed a delivery and we’re talking even in the winter when Montana, as I’m sure our readers know, gets tons of snow. She was instrumental in the development of the state(Montana admitted to the Union in 1889) as without her services, the growing pains of early Montana would have been that much more severe. VERY handy with a rifle. Nobody dared ambush her as she was like Annie Oakley, peaceful but knew how to shoot, if necessary. Please, where you can, spread the word about another historical figure dear to my heart. Thanks for reading.

Gang, it’s your turn. I’m going to sneak out the back entrance of WDIG. I’d rather not get run over in the coup d’etat.

February 8, 2018

Glory, Glory To Old Georgie


I think the only hurricanes Marty’s been exposed to are the ones at Pat O’Brien’s, amirite? That would have required him to travel to New Orleans and, judging by his tone-deaf pronunciation of Jorge’s first name, he’s probably never left his mom’s basement the Valley. Then again, ask a New Orleanian to pronounce “Chartres” and you may think otherwise.

Equally tone-deaf is Marty’s assessment of the impact of Hurricane Maria on Jorge’s life. I’m willing to bet Paloma heard Marty, or someone from the Milford High Token Libertarians Club heard him and will tell Paloma about it over an enchilada burger at The Bucket. If this leads to Paloma starting a campaign to get Marty fired, I’m all in. Odds are it’ll only lead to Gil shaming Marty into an on-air apology to the Padillas. Wonder if we’ll see Jorge’s name spelled out phonetically when that happens (“Whore-hay”)?

Meanwhile, as further proof of his cultural assimilation, Jorge’s transitioning into the Aaaaron Aaaagard Woody Woodpecker ‘do (or is it the Andre frohawk?).  Try not to stare at his freakishly large right hand too long.

metapost (a bit after 3pm EST): I see over at the ‘mudgeon (again, folks, I don’t look at the CC before I post, honest!) a good bit of outrage at Marty’s tone-deafness and an alleged response from Rubin himself, to the effect that Rubin has put these words in Marty’s mouth to make an example of him. We’ll see how Neal makes Marty eat them.

Much discussion of the life and death of Roberto Clemente in our comments today as well. I make no attempts to disguise my age through my commentary, but I am really going to age myself now by admitting that I saw Clemente play. Granted, my age was in the single digits, but I saw him play nonetheless. I remember being shocked and grief-stricken when he was lost, not unlike what I felt when Thurman Munson was killed several years later but made even more tragic by the humanitarian effort Clemente was trying to carry out. Here’s an image of Clemente on his 1960 Topps baseball card, looking unamused at being referred to as “Bob.”


February 3, 2018

Georgia On My Mouth


A couple of years ago, when we were wrapping up up the True Standish/Addison “Boo, but not the ‘Boo’ from To Kill a Mockingbird” Radley arc, I made mention of the old Washington Senators outfielder Carlos Paula. The article I linked to about Paula noted that the Washington Post used to quote Paula using “misspelled words to emphasize his accent (‘Cooba’) and a Tarzan-like sentence structure: ‘Me happy. Me no show. Me smile inside but face no pretty. Me just ugly.’” Meanwhile the Washington Afro-American used “conventional, grammatically correct English” to quote him.

The patronizing, borderline racist convention the Post used to quote Carlos Paula and other Cuban baseball players* extended to its coverage of Southerners as well. Senators players from the South were quoted using dialogue that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Li’l Abner strip of the day. This treatment extended to Washington’s star shortstop Cecil Travis, who hailed from Riverdale, Georgia and was quoted as saying, “Why, Ah always was a shortstop until one day they needed a third baseman at Chattanooga. To tell the truth, Ah never did cotton to third base.”

Rubin does not stoop to using similar conventions for the siblings Padilla this winter… yet. Unfortunately he doesn’t give us any other clues (figures of speech, for example) to let us know how they sound, so we just have to be told repeatedly that Jorge has a Georgia accent. If Jorge told us he was fixin’ to get a chili steak and an FO, ring one, we’d know for sure, but Whigham has him drinking a Yoo-Hoo, Yogi’s beverage of choice. On the other hand, we just now learn that not only does his sister Paloma not have the same accent, she goes out of her way to not to. I can imagine future convos around her getting awkward, like the old SNL skit where Jimmy Smits joins the NBC News team. I can also imagine this arc turning to the age-old conflict between assimilation and maintaining one’s culture, with some sibling strife thrown in for good measure. Given the current state of affairs between Puerto Rico and the US government, I can imagine that turning nearly as awkward as the convo in the SNL skit.

I leave you all with this nice little piece of nostalgia that used to put yhs teenchy to bed in days gone by.

*For another example of the writing used to capture the pidgin English of the Cuban players, scroll down just a little bit from that Travis quote I linked to and read how the WaPo quoted Roberto Estalella.

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