This Week in Milford

August 3, 2018

If you were serious about improving you wouldnt wait til August 3rd to start!

What the fuck?? So Gil meets these 2 dildos who apparently love golf enough that they’ll ride thier bikes in the rain to the course. You’d figure if theyre already caddying they should have a working knowledge of golf already. But here’s Gil arriving to teach them.. what?? Doesnt a normal golf course have a pro on hand to give lessons? Especially a private one?  Why the hell does this course have to have the local high school football/basketball/baseball coach come over after his baseball season just ended in August to teach some jimokes how to swing a club, after they should have been playing since freakin April? What have they been doing all this time? Waiting for Gil? By now they should have 25 rounds under their belts – this year. As a longtime golfer this is insulting my intelligence. My dad was a caddie at Olympia Fields CC for a few years in high school, and he didnt need any high school coach telling him anything. He learned to play watching the players he caddied for. These guys should be telling Gil to get the hell outa here cuz we’ve been practicing and playing for months now under the tutulage of Mister Golf Course Pro.

I’m not even starting on Panel 3.  Kid who’se 3 feet tall and carrys maybe 5 clubs in his bag has the moxie to say that? Again, how do those guys get THAT FAR on the course and not know something like that? Where are the ground rules in the clubhouse with that info? And what the hell does that little rule have to do with this storyline anyway??

I need to snap a club in half right now.

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July 21, 2018

We’re From Milford, We’re from Milford…

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… No one likes us
We don’t care
We’re from Milford
F***in’ Milford
No one likes us
We don’t care

I am Bader
Barry Bader
No one likes me
I don’t care
I am Barry
F***in’ Bader
No one likes me
I don’t care

It’s my dad’s fault
It’s not my fault
It’s my dad’s fault
I don’t care
Didn’t know that
Until last week
It’s my dad’s fault
I don’t care

Where was my mom?
Where was my mom?
For the last year
Did she care?
Did she stand up
To my father?
It’s not my fault
I don’t care

I’m Pelwecki
Kev Pelwecki
I hit homers
No one cares
I’ll beat Shankey’s
F***in’ record
You mean Sharkey?
I don’t care

I am Dafne
On a mission
Get in J-school
I don’t care
I’ll expose my
F***in’ classmates
They don’t like me
I don’t care

I am Ms. Rizk
I will take risks
Name’s ironic?
I don’t care
I just care ’bout
F***in’ Trumpet
I will take risks
I don’t care

I’m Kazinski
Bob Kazinski
I don’t coach much
I don’t care
Hair like Venus
Grab that penis
Off the basepath
I don’t care

I am Gil Thorp
Head Coach Gil Thorp
We’re still playing?
I don’t care
Trust the Process?
There’s no process!
When’s my tee time?
I don’t care

 

June 14, 2018

Correction: Orange Is the New Dafonte*

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*and how many times have I relied on the “Orange Is the New Black” trope? Don’t ask.

Does anyone know how to lay the bases out at Valley Tech?  The outside edge of the bag goes along the baseline with the rest of the bag in fair territory, not the inside of the bag with the rest in foul territory.  Never mind that: does that field have no foul territory or what?  I wonder how many kids hurt themselves chasing after foul balls and falling over that parapet in front of the dugout.  No matter, visiting players shouldn’t swing from the dugout roof.

Valley Tech’s messed up ball field pales in comparison to today’s big reveal: Dafne Dafonte was the second driver!  How else would she be going to prison and seeing Del?   Oh wait, prisons aren’t co-ed?  Never mind.  My head spins with the crazy schemes Dafne could’ve cooked up to make this happen.  Maybe she secretly lusted after True Standish, wanted Boo Radley killed off and, disguised as Shelly from Selasky’s Supper Club, got Del Bader drunk so he would cause death.  Hey, it’s not that much more far-fetched than the idea of Del agreeing to speak to some nosy kid from his son’s high school’s newspaper in order to somehow clear his name.

Meanwhile, another Trumpet staffer, having picked up one of Holly Dobbs’ left-behind wigs, amuses herself with some newfound gadgetry.  Photography/videography buffs, help me out please: isn’t she wearing a steadicam harness?  Are those designed to work with 1960s-era film cameras like the one she’s holding?

metapost: Ned, Tim and the rest of the TWIM community have taken this blog to another level this week.  Here’s hoping I can keep it up.  Thanks to all for keeping this a going concern.

 

May 1, 2018

Today’s entry was a toss-up between “A Charlie Brown Padilla Special” on the Hallmark Channel or Moose’s “Getting It On The Green” on ESPN3.

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Gang, I don’t know about you, but I’ve HAD ENOUGH of the Padillas. AND Moose while I’m on a rant ‘n’ rave. It’s bad enough that Charlie Brown Padilla née Jorge really wasn’t a factor in the last plot although you wouldn’t know it when he was a cause celebre via the Milford Pirate Network. Now he’s sticking his nose into other Specials, y’know, Halloween Special, Christmas Special, President’s Day Special, well, you get the General Idea. Moose isn’t any better but I’m goin’ generic here. Ya gotta admit Charlie Brown Moose is kinda awkward. Ok, Charlie Brown Pelwicki could pass but what if the producer is dyslexic and we’re stuck with Charlie Pelwicki Brown? Charlie Moose Brown? Lucy Padilla would have a cow. Therefore, Charlie Brown Padilla it is. And as long as he is confined to the area where you hear Vince Guaraldi’s “Linus & Lucy” throughout the Special, okay, I’ll swallow it and stay tuned for Batman’s “Earth Day Special”. But I swear if I see Charlie Brown Padilla in the Batcave punching information on the Batcomputer to try to locate The Joker’s hideout in a desperate attempt to keep him from bombing Gotham City with raw sewage out of SEVERAL C-130’s (keep in mind, we’re talking a Special related to Earth Day), I’m switching the channel to Gunsmoke (tune in tonight for a Special 2-Hour Earth Day episode when Matt Dillon battles The Dalton Gang when they are caught dead to rights pissing indiscriminately in Cripple Creek). Moose displaying his batting technique on “Perry Como’s Christmas Extravaganza for the Ages-Live in Branson, Missouri at House of Como”? Better be good.

And while Moose’s Rise to the Majors with a 9-Iron is still fresh in my mind, it seems the plotline gods are desperately trying to make up for Moose’s disappearance in last Fall’s scenario by encouraging his latest venture, somewhat reckless though it may be. Gonna be up front with you, gang, right off the bat (no pun intended). After working with hitters in Babe Ruth League Baseball and seeing some be successful at the high school level, I have no clue what Moose is talking about. And I humbly say that cuz I realize players make coaches, not the other way around. The players made me, trust me.

So that out of the way, if Moose is going to climb back up where he dropped off the Grand Tetons back in football season, he should at least have the common decency to swing the bat better if he wants to avoid the sand traps, as in P1. Those hazards could be killers when going for extra bases. Don’t swing for the fences only to wind up in the pond, Moose. And watch the alligators. They’ve been known to feast on aluminum bats. Furthermore, too many ball drops and not only will you get penalized a stroke, the batting average is going to suffer. Price you pay for going yard.

And as John S., Jive Turkey, et al, have mentioned, Gil’s coaching has been sparse (again, trying to be nice). So when he has a chance to make up for lost time as in P2, he falters by giving Moose tips on how to survive the Mudlark USSSA Modified Slo-Pitch Tournament this weekend at the Milford Softball Complex. Sure, Moose, that’s a sure-fire way to keep from popping up to the 3rd baseman. Oh, here, you’ll need to give the Tournament Director this Red Dot.

Right before “James Brown: Live at The Apollo ’68” Special is about to commence

“Bootsy, what’s that bald-headed honky with the funny-striped shirt doin’ talkin’ to our bass player?”

“I don’t know, James, but we’re too late to do anything. Just do your best struttin’ while we rip into “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag”. It’s a bit dark on stage, maybe the brothers and sisters in the audience won’t notice.”

CAN I TAKE IT TO THE BRIDGE!!!!!!!!!!

YEAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

CAN I TAKE IT TO THE BRIDGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CAN I TAKE IT TO-

Charlie Brown Padilla is escorted exit left by the Boston Police. Yeah, I think James Brown (don’t get me started, gang, LOVE The Godfather of Soul) does it better.

And you whippersnappers and long-suffering Moody Blues fans are in for a treat. Because this plot is ALREADY getting on my nerves and with the recent induction of the Moody Blues into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (about damn time), I thought I’d kill 2 Padillas plus a Moose with 1 stone.  From their album “The Present”, sung to the tune ‘Sorry’, take ‘er away, Ray Thomas (flutist on “Nights in White Satin”, saxophonist on “I’m Just a Singer (in a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band)”, BTW)

Just hope that they leave

I’m glutted of their presence

Just maybe Snuffy Smith

Will brook their adolescence

I am willing to trade

Their butts for Hi & Lois

They’re grating my nerves

This plot’s in reverse

Soon it’ll swerve

My sanity’s left out to dry

for the last time

I’ll tell you up front, DAMN STRAIGHT,

it’s for the last time

Wayward Mudlark Runaround People-Ramble

Wayward Mudlark Runaround People-Wear the plot thin

Pointless-a word that’s aptly used to sum up what’s going down

Pointless is the way they steer this frickin’ bumper car into the ground

Do we dare pursue a whim

They’re laying useless BS on us

I can smell it across the gym

The odors shot from their lips

With them it always did

I think we’re hanging Marty Moon

for the last time

Padillas and Moose skip town

vamoose for all time

(The London Philharmonic Orchestra, Vienna Boys Choir, Milford Pirate Network cheering section, John Lodge, Justin Hayward (keep in mind, Graeme Edge is on drums, unable to stand in choral pews), the parrot contributing the falsetto voice, and 10,000 angels join Ray)

Wayward Mudlark Runaround People-stink

Wayward Mudlark Runaround People-bite the big one

Pointless-we’ll never see the light of day in this plot for fools

Pointless is the way they go from A to Z through a broken slide rule

Wayward Mudlark Runaround People, whoa, Nelly, if I keep this going, I’ll become one of them. No sense in winning the lead role in The Myth of Sisyphus.

If ya smuggle yore Falls City Beer across the border because ya don’t feel like paying duty on the merchandise at hand, stashin’ it under the steering column but later discover it’s the wrong country but find out it’s just as fun ta git rowdy and drunk with the Eskimos, ya might be a redneck.

A scene on the Ken Burns’ Jazz Special

“…Flat Foot Floogie with the Floy, Floy

Flat Foot Floogie with the Floy Floy

Floy-doy, Floy-doy, Floy-doy, Floy-doy

When you’re feelin’ low-down

You don’t know what to do

And you wanna show-down

It’s The Dance, The Dance, The Dance to doooooooooooooo

THAT’S IT, MCVOUTIE BROWNIE PADILLAROONI, NOW YOU ROLLIN’ LIKE A TRUE VOUT-A-HIPSTER, ISN’T HE, TINY? OH, YOU’RE STEPPIN’ SO VOUT-A-REENIE!!!!!!!!!!! WELL, ALL REET, YARDBIRD-A-REENO, TAKE THE NEXT CHORD BEFORE YOU CUT OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

The world of Slim Gaillard (see James Brown Godfather comment) was forever altered that night at the Milford Jazz Club.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Charlie Brown Padilla in ICU at Milford General Hospital, Requires 42 Stitches in his Cheeks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Overextended himself trying to play ‘Ool-Ya-Koo’ on ‘Tribute to Dizzy Gillespie.”

Speaking of Ray Thomas, I sadly announce his passing. His rapport with the crowd when I saw MB in concert was fantastic. He really knew how to work the crowd at Mesker Outdoor Amphitheater in the Ohio Valley humidity with that heavy British accent. He was an excellent jack-of-all-trades, playing many instruments (as previously mentioned) and contributing many songs, all with an excellent cherubic feel to them. I miss you, Ray. RIP, My Man.

I would like to break a rule and extend Black History Month by expressing my UTTER JOY over the induction of Nina Simone into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Guys, what were you THINKING? I VERY reluctantly set aside my anger at the crock of justice to note that she had an impressive resume, “Silk & Soul” her calling card that bowled over the critics many times over. She also wowed the crowd with “My Baby Just Cares For Me” and “Young, Gifted and Black”. She ran the gamut from Soul to R & B to Jazz to Rock and Roll and could transition them quite deftly. A Civil Rights activist, arguably to the bitter end (who could blame her?), she lived in France for the remainder of her life. But her influence was felt worldwide and still is. As Justin Hayward, guitarist for the Moody Blues, said during his acceptance speech at the R & R HOF Induction, “Nina Simone showed us how it should be done.” I knew I loved your music for a reason, Justin. Please join me in saluting a worthy member into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and PLEASE spread her name. She deserves it.

Gang, fire away. I don’t think Moose’s buddies are sold on his concept. Maybe if kept his elbow up when he teed off on Dog Leg Right at #13, par 5, at the Milford Golf Course, oh, never mind.

April 27, 2018

At least there’s a hottie in this thread

Filed under: huge earrings, Milford Weirdos, Pantheon of Hair — robmize2013 @ 6:42 pm

… aand that would be in P2, but first we have an insensitive remark by Paul Beaudry in P1, basically saying good thing Barrys dad is safely in jail where he belongs. Who gives a crap about his life and how its affecting his family?

P2 has Dafne pondering – hey, maybe I care. But I dont care in the way I should – I care because I need to snoop around the Bader house as well as that smelly jail and get the lowdown on the whole backstory of the storyline we went through 2 years ago. And I’m gonna have my smokin hot body with my huge earrings and sleek hairstyle in as many panels as I can these next 2 months. And if that means Pelweki and his assinine launch angle crap is shoved down the nearest toilet asap, so be it. Matter of fact, I’d like to make the first flush. Hey, I’ll have one of the baseball players smash that bat he’s wielding right between his legs. Then when he’s explainin  that crappola it will come out about 3 octaves higher.

And who cares if we never play a ballgame between the boys and girls- between me and Marjie Ducey we can carry this strip to June by ourselves and actually let the readers enjoy themselves for a change. Who needs all these other douchbags?

I’m liking this storyline; we have a dumb male, and a smart female; and the dumb male will only be filler for the smart females adventures in discovering the real reasons for what happened that fateful night 2 years ago when Boo Radley became the sad answer to a trivia question.

 

March 3, 2018

Mo’ Better Lady Mudlarks

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And what happened, then? Well, in Milford they say – that Karina’s small nose grew three sizes that day. And then – the true meaning of Milford came through, and Karina found strength of *ten* Marties, plus two!

Come on, Chief, stay on model! Saturday’s cliffhanger leaves us wondering how the Lady Mudlarks will protest Marty Moon at the Milford boys’ game and how of-of-sync with today’s realities that protest will be. Rather than speculate on that, I’ll focus on the little details that keep us coming back for more:

P1: Paloma’s super freaky giant left hand (no wonder that phone looked so tiny when she held it) is par for the course, but I must say I appreciate how Whigham has drawn the girls’ hair. Such shine and volume! Breck Girl Darwin would be proud.

P2: Karina comes not only with a giant schnozz but also with pre-skinned knuckles.

P3: We never saw the end of the Milford @ Jefferson game but we know now that the Mudlarks lost. No burritos for Jorge, then?  That might explain the fridge raid and the fridge-side pizza menu.

PP2-3: Karina’s and Paloma’s upper lips remind me of the top half of the old Hartford Whalers logo. Gives me a great excuse to fire up some “Brass Bonanza.”

†Happy belated birthday T. S. Geisel!

February 8, 2018

Glory, Glory To Old Georgie

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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.”

164260_topps

February 3, 2018

Georgia On My Mouth

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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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