This Week in Milford

November 19, 2018

The Family That Jogs Together Slogs Together

Filed under: Gil Thorp, Mimi Thorp, Prairie Style Windows — nedryerson @ 7:50 am

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Remember when we thought that Tiki’s sister might have had a developmental delay or other specific learning disability that would require her to attend school somewhere other than Milford’s traditional elementary (where all the fifth graders know each other)? Was it just me, or did Rubin really kind of lean into that point? I guess that was just an early glimpse into the Gordian Knot of Tiki’s relocation from New Thayer to Milford and wasn’t really intended to be explored in any depth.

We went on to focus on crappy cars, crappy apartments, tardiness and eligibility to play sports. It seems like Rubin really stepped in it on the eligibility story. The Jansen’s tried to pull a fast one, or so it appears. Kaz got to do some  more of his fancy detective work, and then ultimately threatened to kill Tiki to get the truth. Then Gil pontificated about eligibility and keeping his own scrupulous adherence to the rules on point, without ever indicating that he really has a personal mastery of what the eligibility requirements are at all. Now that’s what I call Gil Being Gil.

So the heart of the story is that Tiki got mixed up with the wrong crowd at New Thayer (some nasty people) and his family orchestrated a transfer to Milford. They may have fudged a few things, but it was only out of concern for Tiki and getting him away from the bad element at New Thayer. How bad was it? Only a Gil and Mimi training montage can do justice to the depth of criminal behavior Tiki was party to! Gil and Mimi’s jogging will wash away the stain of nastiness and then we can move on, right? Right?

Tiki’s use of the word crosswise is interesting. Tiki got crosswise with the guys doing the vandalism and the burglaries. Does that mean he got involved or that he was a witness? Are we talking about some sort of witness protection situation here? C’mon Rubin.

It only dawned on me about a month late that I’ve been blogging to one extent or another on This Week in Milford for ten years. Here is my first post. Funny how time flies.

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August 25, 2018

Oh, This One’s Full of Something, All Right.

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Here we go again. Over “Days of Wine and Roses” being played by the skunks, squirrels, bears, alligators (brought in by Milford Conservancy Corps last year), beetles, wasps, blue jays, finches, cardinals, chipmunks, giraffes (brought in to eat the dead poplar leaves that litter the streets of Milford which are otherwise unreachable by Milford Tree Service), possums, lizards, white-tail deer, rabbits, ducks, geese, and Bambi and Thumper in the woods beyond our well-meaning-but-slightly-misguided-duo, the plot is reloaded since we still have 7 days, counting today, to bring meaning to the golf plot before it gets the Green Jacket. I think I’d rather listen to Coach Shaw’s cover of Yes’s “Mood for a Day” at Milford Girls-a-Go Go Club. He might struggle trying his best as a Steve Howe wannabe, but it’d be more meaningful AND believable, not that that’s saying much (Sorry, Steve, been listening to your days with Yes, Asia, and your solos (LOVE ’em) for 50 years, didn’t mean to step on any toes).

Robmize is right. Like in ANY sport, if ya don’t make the cut, YA DON’T PLAY, Gil. I’ve been following my high school golf team for well over 30 years and props to them no matter where they placed if they gave their best (all you can ask), but the reality is, if we didn’t qualify they weren’t going to put us in the You’re-a-Bunch-of-Losers-But-Because-You’re-Nice-Guys-And-The-Other-Team’s-Calculator-Wasn’t-Charged-Properly-And-Therefore-Aided-in-Doctoring-The-Scores-Plus-You-Combed-Your-Hair-Back-at-The-Hotel-And-Ate-All-Your-Vegetables-at-The-Tournament-Banquet-We’re-Going-To-Slip-You-Guys-In-When-The-Tournament-Official-Takes-a-Dump-at-The-Port-o-Let-After-He-Purchases-a-$16-Diet-Pepsi-With-Nutrasweet-at-The-Concession-Stand-And-Won’t-Say-Anything-Once-It’s-Too-Late-To-Change-The-Scoreboard Division. No, Gil. We went home.

“I swear on a stack of Golf Digests that we didn’t cheat. Is there a notary around?”

“Yeah, he’s about to tee off with Marty and Jaquan.”

“Ahhhhh, never mind. I’ll just slip the Tournament Official a few Franklins. He’s 2 months behind on his Lexus payments. Why try to prove it when my wallet is stuffed?”

Recently, teenchy’s on-point title “Something Fluky This Way Comes” reminded me of the Ray Bradbury story from which it was derived “Something Wicked This Way Comes” which reminded me of the movie “Duel” where Dennis Weaver is getting chased by this (presumably)psychotic truck driver, an oil rig to be more specific. Well,

Weaver is hungrier than a bear. He sees The Bucket and stops in. Relieved that he’s not being hounded for the time being, he listens to Marty Moon on WDIG before getting out of his car to go inside. The ruling on the integrity of Mutt and Jeff can wait until after he tries the Livercheeseburger and Bucket fries.

Then he sees the tanker, parked 100 feet down the parking aisles.

Guess psychos like Triple Bucket Burgers too.

Be that as it may, Weaver walks in. He spots Coach Kaz at the 1st table going in.

“Cut it out.”

Coach Kaz looks up from drinking his hi-protein, low-carb, fat-free, vitamin-enriched, low-sodium, Nutrasweet-induced, nitrogen-loaded, egg included, chocolate and maraschino cherry shake, while his kids are finishing up their child’s plate of Bucket Crab Meat ‘n’ Tater Tots and his wife is getting nausea from stuffing her face with Bucket ‘o’ Shrimp Scampi w/Roquefort Cheese Sauce, Baked Potato w/ Bucket ‘o’ Sour Cream, extra.

“What are you talking about?”

“Yore tryin’ ta run me over and I’m-a gonna call the police if ya don’t stop”

“Sir, I’ve never seen you before. Would I risk my kids and my wife just to settle a score WHILE DRIVING IN A VEHICLE?”

“Ya mean, ya ain’t drivin’ an oil rig?”

“Where am I going to fit the kids? In the luggage box?”

Trapped, he moves on.

Grabbing the person in the next booth by the throat,

“Ya ass-wipin’ son of a bitch!!!!! Ya done killed one human being, I don’t keer what the judge sed!!!!!!!!!! Ya out to set a record????”

A teenager hurries to the rescue

“Mister, that’s his son!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Lets go of him.

Then grabs a waitress

“Awright, the game’s up!!!!!!!! Lay off the accelerator pedal out there!!!!!!! I knows ya didn’t wanna be late for work, but this is ridiculous!!!!!!!!”

“SIR!!!!!!!! I’ve got skates on!!!!!!!!”

Sees the footwear down below and sees Kaz has has seen enough and releases the car hop.

He sits down to order. He still has his coupon for 1/2-Off Tuesdays on all Bucket Biscuit Combos. The Bucket Biscuit w/ French Toast, Bucket ‘o’ Sassafras Maple Syrup extra. He’s thankful he brought his Visa card. The Bucket doesn’t accept American Express.

Gang, are you in for a treat!!!!!!! Because I feel good about continuing a trend from last week, you old-timers like yours truly remember Match Game from the early ’70’s where the host Gene Rayburn read off a passage that contained a blank in it and you had to fill in that blank with an a answer and hope that your answer matched the 6 celebrities answering the same question.

It got hilarious when the passage contained a blank that was, say, VERY suggestive and your imagination ran wild with all kinds of nasty possibilities. BTW, I thought you whippersnappers might like this one too. Answers are encouraged. Have fun with it!!!!! Without further ado, take ‘er away, Gene.

“Dumb Dora was SOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW     DUMB      WAS  SHE????), she thought that when she was cheating with The Born Losers, she could use her __________ to hide her score.”

It’s your turn, gang.

Hats off to Katie Dauenhauer and Emmali Lear. Katie works at Culver’s and Emmali works at JoAnn Fabrics, both in Louisville. Taking the bus to your job only tells me you love to work and make a difference in people’s lives. You keep America rolling, Ladies. We need more of you.

And, no, Donna Green, I didn’t forget you. You keep Thornton’s in Valley Station, Ky. going with your friendly smile and can-do attitude. Customers are a premium with you and it shows with how busy the place ALWAYS is. Gang, if you’re in the area, swing on by (the one NORTH of Gene Snyder Freeway, BTW). She deserves it. Face it, we all shop at Wal-Mart. Nothing wrong with that. But you need a place where everybody knows your name. She will. Take care of people like Donna who take care of you.

And just WHO or WHAT does Gil have in mind in this Flashback Moment when he talks about adding 6 more (steady the nerves, T. Drew. Take another sip of Hills Brothers and keep repeating “It’s only a golf plot, it’s only a golf plot…”)? I’M GUESSING Tony and Wilson are in amongst those 6 but there’s still 4 more and who would THEY be? The Four Tops? Winkin’, Blinkin’ and Nod plus their agent? Murderer’s Row? I mighta overfigured or underfigured on the last one. That’s what happens when you hang around The Pine Range Gang. You are the company you keep, our mothers always said.

“Sheriff Dillon, ain’t no way The Dalton Gang hit that many bulls-eyes at the shootin’ tournament. They musta cheated.”

“Way ahead of you. Our deputies hid behind a rock and watched ’em. They were yankin’ dynamite out of Miss Kitty’s butt and hurlin’ ’em when the judges weren’t lookin.”

“Gil, you’ve got ‘Over, Under, Sideways, Down’ listed on your entry forms. What age are they?”

Gil takes off his earphones after jamming to Yardbird “What did you say?”

If ya git recertified by Roehl Truck Lines and ya proudly display yore ‘A’ license in front of yore oil-tanker rig ya’ve bin drivin’ since Red Sovine advertised his records on K-Tel during the commercial break from the ABC Afternoon Special in one of them thar Trucker Recruitin’ Booklets in the booklet rack in front of a Pilot Truck Stop in Tennessee somewhar, ya might be a redneck.

Dennis is still munching down on his Bucket Livercheeseburger. The Bucket Biscuit w/ French Toast wasn’t enough to sate his appetite, neither was The Bucket Tortellini con Aglio e Olio, Il Formaggio Al Fresco, L’Acqua e Il Pane Contorno, Vino Blanco optional, and is about to down a Rolaids Wintergreen to keep the esophagus alive when he notices Gil leave the men’s room. Gil had just deposited a load of Buffalo Bucket o’ Chicken Fries. Our anti-hero watches him exit out the door. Gil is heading toward the oil rig. Could it be? Gil gets out his keys. Mimi catches up with him, slurping down her last drops of her plenty o’ prunes and bananas shake. They head to the door of the rig, Mimi likely to snooze in the sleeper area, then they both turn sharply right. Next thing you know, Gil pedals out with Mimi on their tandem. Gil had forgotten the bicycle lock combination and had to activate the switch on his key ring.

STILL August, teachers, coaches, staff, etc. STILL trying to make ends meet before this plot releases them from their supernumerary jobs, we read the latest review from the music critic, Jennifer Hutshall, from the Milford Enquirer, and I quote

“…Coach Shaw displayed a deftness rarely seen in modern times in M-town. Playing the unplugged version of ‘Layla’ at the Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club last night brought a tear to more than one person’s eyes amidst the crowd. Even the dancers had to pass the hanky around since the paper towel dispenser was out of paper towels. The ladies performing entrechats and pas-de-deux’s to the rhythm of ‘Swan Lake’ just intensified this combo Earl Klugh-Jon McGlaughlin performer in the making. Mimi Thorp shakin’ her booty every time the lyric ‘ya got me on my knees’ was sung added a nice touch. An encore presentation is scheduled for tonight and reservations for tickets is recommended. Overflow parking in the parking lot of the Milford Toyota plant…”

Jaquan Case is leaving The Bucket, along with his trainer Are they team drivers? Weaver doesn’t dare stand in the way to find out. Jaquan has “S” knitted on his jacket. Standard Oil? Maybe the letters faded off the oil rig. They both share a laugh, toting their doggie bags of Bucket Deerburgewrs and beeline toward the rig. Case opens the door. Case is a psycho? Nope, he’s leaving a Jehovah’s Witness Watchtower tract and doing the same in all the cars  in the parking lot. Then he and his buddy get in the Subway semi because they have a Texas run to make after they make their dropoff at the Milford Subway. Gotta deliver it pronto if ya wanna get it fresh. Weaver slams his table knife down in disgust and continues contracting heartburn from his Livercheeseburger. The stress is killing him. Not to mention the suspense. Shame he’s not part of the golf plot. It’d be INTERESTING. Stupid, and may run over into September (October???? No), but interesting.

Gang, comment away. This plot is ridiculously predictable but I’m telling you nothing new. And neither is the plot.

“NOW YOU LAY OFF OR I’M GONNA GIT MY SHOTGUN OUTTA THE TRUNK AND ASK QUESTIONS LATER!!!!!!!!!! YA TRIED TA RAM ME INTO THE MILFORD & OAKWOOD  TRAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Ms. Rizk patiently looks up.

“Sir, that isn’t my oil rig in the student parking lot. I’ve been in this room, typing for 2 decades.”

August 6, 2018

Fired Up

Filed under: Gil Thorp, golf, Mimi Thorp — nedryerson @ 5:39 am

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I’m going to confess that I have put even less than my usual amount of effort into figuring out what this summer golf plot is all about.

So far I get that we’ve got two golf courses, each with a set of teens with golf clubs strapped onto their bodies. I’m not going to try to deepen my understanding. Time is short. This is nowhere, man!

Also, I’ve had an interesting week in the real world and last Monday seems like it was ages ago. I could swear that we had a Gil and Mimi moment to set the stage, but it looks like we’re having another one in the Thorps’ garden. Given the short period of time available to develop a summer plot, the fact that we’re pausing to refresh one week in is a very bad sign.

July 30, 2018

None Of This Feels Real

Filed under: Gil Thorp, golf, Mimi Thorp, What the hell is going on here? — nedryerson @ 5:47 am

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So we kick off what’s left of summer with the now traditional serving of the lemonade. (We will take Gil at his word that it’s lemonade and not something stronger. Or will we?)

Do you think Gil took the time to squeeze a bunch of lemons or did he just mix up a batch of Country Time? If Gil Thorp, the comic strip in its modern incarnation, was lemonade, it would be made from an expired pouch of powdered mix found in a dumpster behind the grocery store that sells all the dented can goods.

What’s the big deal with lemonade anyway? It’s only good when it’s loaded with sugar. Maybe lemonade is an apt metaphor for Gil Thorp. It’s fondly remembered as a refreshing treat, but as a practical matter, it’s barely worth the effort.

Maybe you out there in TWIMland have a different opinion of lemonade. Please share it with us. What else are we going to talk about?

We can talk about these two characters on bicycles, in the rain, with full golf bags strapped to them?? Can you really do that? Even without the rain, I believe that would be unwise. Some sort of pull behind, mini trailer is in order. But kids will be kids*. Let’s just hope we don’t have a accident as they weave down the road spilling golf clubs everywhere.

Are you excited that we’re talking about golf? No? Lemonade is still on the table!

*Actually, to really haul something impractically and dangerously, adults are required. This weekend, I saw an SUV on the interstate with a king mattress set strapped to the roof. I’m talking a three layer job, the two separate box springs and the mattress. The mattress was on top, of course.

July 5, 2018

First Responder Timeline (in part)

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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.

April 18, 2018

Why Is Paloma Standing Behind Gil’s Desk?

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I mean, other than to gratuitously fit her in the frame. Really, Panel Three concisely symbolizes the whole approach of this arc. I’m not even entirely sure what the heck Jorge is talking about when he says Gil ‘might’ be right.

Fortunately, Gil’s not really listening as he strains his neck to make sure Paloma doesn’t clock him with her standard Milford High issue stack of text books.

Minus points: Sartorially, things seem out of whack. We have Mimi in a skirt (!) and long scarf, Gil going from wearing a jacket to short sleeves, and I don’t even want to begin to figure out all the ways Paloma is not dressed like a teenager.

 

April 17, 2018

Ohhhhh, Marty, you bankrupted this plot. But you have a free spin token, so spin again!!!!!

Filed under: Gil Thorp, hideous scar faces, Mimi Thorp, Prairie Style Windows — tdrewhardin @ 1:54 am

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WHEEL!!!!!!!!!!! OF!!!!!!!!!!!!! FORTUNE!!!!!

That’s right, gang, Pat Sajak and Vanna White have invaded Milford High School Gymnasium to promote the famous game show. And what better way for WOF to nurture a grass-roots feel than to invite Milford’s own to be contestants? Once a Mudlark, always a Mudlark, even if they have to spin a gigantic wheel to win thousands of dollars/vacations to The Bahamas/consolation prizes to prove it. The screening process turned up 3 worthy contestants, Marty Moon, Mimi Thorp and Vince Packard, and this should be interesting, given all that Marty has endured. C’mon, gang, Marty can’t be crying in his beer at the Milford Lounge forever and does anybody honestly picture him next to Humphrey Bogart at the Boulevard of Broken Dreams? Didn’t think so. I wouldn’t even paint him in that portrait with those dogs playing poker that gets sold on a roadside stand somewhere. Marty puffing away on a Muriel cigar next to some ruffian boxer who’s also smokin’ a stogie? Marty better have a winning hand.

Especially when we’re still attempting to dig ourselves out of this plot via the-parking-lot-aka-bargaining-table method. Hey, I guess NAFTA, SALT II, and the Yalta Conference (“Sure, Josef, you can have Czechoslovakia if we can take Austria. Oh, damn, I lost the keys to my Ford Explorer. No problem, I have a spare in my briefcase.”) were discussed in the asphalt jungles of your nearest soon-to-make-history-in-encyclopedias-everywhere city, so why not Puerto Rico and/or the fate of Marty’s radio career? And why not the asphalt jungle of Milford?

Before Gil and The Dove, with HOR-hay as an Official Witness, sign ANY agreement (Marty Moon’s broadcasting career realigned in exchange for world peace, I’d say that’s fair), let’s NOT KID OURSELVES as Gil and Mimi are doing in P3. As they walk down the streets of perhaps the Business District of Milford, after intense negotiations in the asphalt jungle (we’re talking Milford, I understand, but work with me), they apparently need to be reminded of the raison d’etre of WDIG. The station isn’t throwing a lifeline to a fellow shark because WDIG is compassionate to a JAWS who forgot how to swim. Peace, Love, and Happiness is for the ’60’s, concepts that don’t apply to a muckraking operation that is ‘DIG. Unless Peace, etc. is subordinate TO the profit ledger. Then Flowers in your Hair is OK as long as the utilities in the building are paid. PEACE and PROFITS walking hand-in-hand, Gil? Did you ever see JAWS and Lassie walk down the aisle of a chapel to exchange wedding vows (…’til death do you part?”     “I do.”)?

Therefore, if anybody’s been dying to know what Marty’s been up to when he’s not feeling sorry for himself, I mean, okay, so nobody’s losing sleep over this one but, hell, I’M DYING TO KNOW, how’s that? You think I like Gil in a parking lot doing a sting operation with The Dove and Jorge CONCERNING MARTY??? Surely Marty kept himself busy. Actually, believe it or not, he did.

“So, Marty, tell us a little about yourself.”

“I’m a DJ and sports announcer for a radio station. I do play-by-play for high school sports.”

“Wow. That’s interesting. There’s an ugly rumor you got suspended?”

“Totally false. I have been on the job for 60 years and only called in once. My jeep broke down out in the woods and my CB player was on the frizz and I forgot my CB handle. A farmer in a nearby soybean field gave me a lift on his combine and I eventually made it back to Milford.”

“Good deal!!!!!! BTW, what is your CB handle?”

“It’s an original. Just call me ‘Dead Flowers'”

(Awkward pause)

“Well, Vanna, when we take a tour of the town after the show, don’t forget to put roses on HIS grave. Oh, you’re still alive(nervous laughter from the audience, Vanna impatient to turn the letters. It’s a Phrase). Marty, why don’t you get us started and spin the wheel?”

TH– —T R—– —K-

“200 dollars.”

“Is there a ‘Z’?”

“I’m sorry, Mimi, there’s no ‘Z’. Vince, it’s your turn.”

Sppppiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

“Wow, big money, 800 dollars.”

“Is there a ‘C’?”

“YES!!!!!! There IS a ‘C’. If Vanna will get her ass over there, okay, that’s better. We only have a 1/2 hour in this gym.”

TH– —T R—– –CK-

“I’d like to solve the puzzle.”

“Sure.”

“THEY SHOT RIBALD COCKS.”

“Nope, I’m sorry, that is incorrect. Marty, back to you.”

If ya lost that vacation to Acapulco, complete with dancing senoritas that sing like Speedy Gonzales and hotels that cost the GNP of Guatemala with beaches so pristine that you CAN drink the water, because ya lost on “Wheel of Fortune” because ya forgot there’s a ‘C’ in MEXICAN REDNECK, ya might be a redneck.

Gang, I’m a Classic Rock junkie but I have a special addiction for my Rolling Stones. From the album “Sticky Fingers”(the one that shows Coach T.’s crotch shot once you unzip it) comes a song that sums up the relationship between Marty and Ernie. As Ralph Kramden once said to Norton, awaaaaaayyyyyy we go

While you’re sitting there

In your silk-upholstered chair

Broadcasting live for WDIG

I hope you won’t see me

In my ragged company

The parrot done left me in abject poverty

Take me down, Little Ernie

Take me down

I know you think you’re the king of

the high school grounds

And you can send me dead flowers

When I am fired

Send me dead flowers on the radio waves Send me dead flowers

When I retire

And I’ll never forget to put roses on

your graaaaavvveee.

Well, while you’re sitting back

In your rose-pink Cadillac

Calling the game on Milford Playdown

dayyyyyyyssssss

I’ll be at the Milford Lounge

With a needle that I scrounged

And a Natural Lite to take my pain

awaaaaayyyyyyyy

Take me down, Little Ernie

Take me down

I know you think you’re the king when

I’m not around

And you can send me dead flowers when I’m buried

Send me dead flowers on the radio waves

Send me dead flowers when I’m married

And I’ll never forget to put this plot into the grraaaaaaaaaavvvvvvve.

TH– —T R—-Y –CK-

Sppppiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnn

“500 dollars”

“I’d like to buy a vowel.”

“Go right ahead.”

“Is there an ‘E’?”

“YESSS!!!!!! There is one ‘E’. Vanna is there to get it turned around.”

TH– —T RE—Y –CK-

“I’d like to solve the puzzle.”

“I’m with you. Solve it.”

“THE BLOB REALLY ROCKS.”

“Uh, no, Mimi, you might wanna check the board again on that one. Vince, over to you.”

“Hi, this is Coach Steve Boone, speaking on behalf of Milford Gentleman’s Club. Practice can get real intense and the plot, as you can see, can be pointless. Sometimes I have to work overtime, with basketball overlapping into Opening Day of my beloved Cubs. That’s why I love the lap dances of Milford’s finest ladies. They help me unwind and forget about the game films Coach is incessantly showing. I’m a Cameo Coach, not Dick Vitale. But rather than lose my job and say “Freeze it, Gil!!!!!”, I turn to the hottest acts in Mudlarkland with ladies like Annie Aardvark cha-chaing on stage, twirling her son’s coxcomb to “Don’t Leave Me This Way” or Penelope Pearl proving age is just a state of mind, gettin’ it on to “What Have You Done For Me Lately?” How she boogies and keeps her beehive is a club secret. While you’re scratchin’ your noggin over that one, check out the club’s 1/2 price daiquiris from 7-9 PM every night. I’m thirsty already. And you’ll also be hungry for love and get it satisfied at the place that’s literally hoppin’ for your business. Come check out the ladies at the Milford Gentleman’s Club and as a bonus catch Hellfire Heather lap dance the owner while twirling a football. Just call her the Meadowlark Lemon of the Gentleman’s Club. She never fumbles!!!!!! Us Cameo Coaches taught her well. And if you poop out from the ladies like Hellfire, and who doesn’t occasionally, there’s wide-screen TV’s all around the club. It’s nice to know that when Gil can act out of character and be a donkey about the Veer offense or a generic play like the double out right, split formation, halfback wishbone option left, single screen off the right tackle, that I can flush that down the toilet and go watch my beloved Cubs. They have toilet paper too, 2-ply jumbo rolls at that, in case you’re wondering. But don’t take my word for it, come on down to the one place exclusively for men where playmates are not restricted to the basketball court and their uniforms really give you a reason to cheer on the team.”

TH-S —T RE—Y S-CKS

Spppppppiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnn

“Hey, ALL RIGHT!!!!!!!! You landed on ‘Win a Trip to Mudlark Lake Resort'”.

“Is there an ‘L’?”

“YESSS!!!!!!!!! THERE ARE THREE OF THEM!!!!!!!!! If Vanna will get there in time. That’s what happens when they only pay minimum wage. And LUCKY YOU!!!!!! I hope you have a special someone in mind.”

TH-S -L-T RE-LLY S-CKS

“Peaches, if you’re watching this, I’m willing to kiss and make up.”

“And Peaches, whoever you are, if you can rescue Marty from the Milford Lounge and land him to safety at this resort, you deserve this trip. Just don’t take the Titanic to get there(audience laughter, Marty shooting daggers at Pat). All right, Marty, what do you wanna do?”

“I’d like to solve the puzzle.”

“Why not?”

“THIS BLOT REALLY SOCKS!!!!!!!!!”

“Noooooooo, I’m sorry, Marty. Mimi, it’s your turn, spin the wheel.”

Spiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnn

“Oooooohhhhhh, just passed that ‘Bankrupt’ sign. Lay it on me, Mimi.”

“Is there a ‘P’?”

“YESSSS!!!!!!! One ‘P’.”

TH-S PL-T RE-LLY S-CKS

“I’d like to solve the puzzle.”

“GO AHEAD!!!!!”

“THIS PLOT REALLY SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!”

“YESSSS!!!!!!! WE HAVE A WINNER!!!!!!!! Johnny, tell Mimi all the fabulous prizes in store for our contestant!!!!!!!!!”

“A BRAND NEW BRUNSWICK BAYLINER MOTORBOAT!!!!!! Yes, dump that Radio Flyer of a craft that your husband’s been sandpapering for the last 25 years when he’s not teaching his daughter how to putt…”

Gang, fire away. Marty’s consolation prize is 2 free passes to the Milford Gentleman’s Club. Marty wanted me to tag along. Being a Christian, I had my reservations. But Jesus drank wine with the sinners plus I’ve never seen Hellfire Heather twirl a football to “Sweet Georgia Brown” while lap dancing. The talents we never knew we had.

April 5, 2018

Marty Blowed Up Real Good!

Filed under: Gil Thorp, hideous scar faces, Marty Moon, Mimi Thorp — teenchy @ 7:18 am

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Ooh, Mimi, twist that knife girl!

I’m enjoying Gil’s mental gymnastics as he justifies the broad hints he threw at Karina. (I’m also wondering how that laundry basket got more cubical overnight.)

I’m on the road most of today. Have fun deciphering how far Gil would let things go up to swearing (hint: interrupting Marty’s broadcasts are apparently a go).

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