“Gil, Don’t you think ‘Vocational Guidance Counselor’ belongs in the shed?”

Ya gotta be kidding me. I’m presuming that’s Booby on the other end of the line unless he is following up with a prank phone call (outside chance) .

“Do you sell Mudlar-K-Cola in cans in the cafeteria?”

“Yes, we do.”

“You better let the Mudlar-K out.”

Yeah, if I wanted to see my nephew’s baseball coach fired (and I DIDN’T. He was an excellent coach-RIP, Coach Sparrow) , I’d go to the office secretaries at the school. The buck’ll stop there, fer sure. I’m confident the office temp from Milford-Rent-A-Sec will be on the same page with me when I complain that Gil doesn’t know how to flash the bunt sign. And she’ll cheerfully respond how She feels my pain, that Gil didn’t execute the hit-and-run in the 3rd inning last year against Madison because he didn’t know how to overcome the stench when the base umpire passed gas. Get an oxygen mask next time, Thorp, when waving a guy home. HEY!!!!!!!!!!! Whattya know, we have a connection!!!!!!!!!!! Before I put my Marlboro out in the ash tray by the seats where 2 new enrollees are sitting, me and the secretaries will be talkin’ like Casey Stengal.

Dr. Pearl, coming out of the office with her Night School Attendance Report-2017,

“Can anyone around here coach this game?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only in Thorpiverse do we have Dirty Harry practically being asked to run the vermin out of San Francisco and Milford (Quite a bit of ground to cover-aaaaa, he’s Harry, the scriptwriters will think of something) but not before he asks “Mother, may I?”. And the fact that we are dealing with 2-3 other inchoate plots that will more than likely remain inchoate just makes for a nightmare of a season. I pity ESPN. It’s like Mike Patrick and Dickie V. doing the North Carolina-Duke game, then switching over to the History Channel for the rest of the season, basketball swept up in the Dust Bowl. “Yeah, they’re rockin’ and rollin’ here in the Colosseum!!!!!!!!! Gaius Maximus Atrivius is one of my Diaper Dandies. I’ve seen him dunk on a lion with such strength and agility!!!!!!!!!!!” I think you get the point.

Anyone dumb enough to believe  Gil will finish what he starts need only check out the golf plot where a bunch of rag-tag assholes run our heroes in the ground, then disappear while Gil tells his heroes that it’s always important to use Scout’s Honor when figuring the scorecard. The Perry Mason episode that never was.

“Raise your right hand and repeat after me. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do.’

“You may be seated.”

“Now, Mr. Palmer, I understand there was a discrepancy between what you wrote down for Mr. Nicklaus and The Golden Bear’s own version. He’s saying his one shot didn’t count because he was doing an instructional video during The Masters.”

“That’s correct.”

“And yet you say all shots count whether you swing your club to fend off the flies, disseminate an odor when your grandmother farted, or, in this case, when you’re showing the kids how to putt around a tree.”

“That’s correct.”

“Don’t you think you should allow leeway when putting around a redwood? Line up the shot? Shoo the squirrels away so they don’t ruin the eagle you’re about to sink? In fact, didn’t that happen when you were at Mount Kilimanjaro Country Club, an elephant herd  interfered with your hole-in-one?”

“The male was horny and had been to the Milford Men’s Clinic for ED and got cured in 2 hours and was chasing a reluctant female and the whole band of females turned on him and ran him out of the savannah…”

“Just answer the question. No need for National Geographic.”

“Yes, it happened.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I’m here to assert that Mr. Palmer should implement honor and dignity, as well as mercy when playing a Gentlemen’s Game. The Machiavellian way of thinking that Mr. Palmer is employing-”

“WILLLLLLMMMMAAAAAAA, where’s my Fruit of the Looms? I’m late for work. Mr. Slate will kill me!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“In the clothes basket in the den, dear.”

“Gee, Fred, I wouldn’t get too worried. Mr. Slate said you could use another tardy and you’ve saved up a bunch of ’em. You won’t get fired anytime soon. In fact, you might want to use a few on your bowling game, a hee hee hee, a hee hee hee hee…”

“Har dee har har, Rubble. I bought that new Brunswick at the Bedrock Sporting Goods store. The pins won’t know what hit ’em…”

 

And we still have Robby “2 Billboards” Howry to deal with. Well, gang, you know I’m not going to leave you empty-handed. Without further ado, Monty Python has returned, handcuffed to Arthur “2 Sheds” Jackson. Oh, you Python junkies know who I’m talking about. A composer who was thinking of buying a 2nd shed, hence got plastered with the moniker, occasionally bristling at this moniker.

But wait, there’s more. If you read my post NOW, you’ll get not one but TWO Monty Python sketches, a second one, “Vocational Guidance Counselor.” If that isn’t enough to make you get off the Laz-ee-Boy and get to the phone and dial the 800 number, I’ll throw in a free Gil Thorp coif, Special Everly Brothers Edition, 1959, but you must act now. Operators are standing by and you’re running out of Rogaine.

Anyway, without giving away the rest of the sketch, “2 Billboards” Howry was kind enough to take time away from muckraking Gil on his Outdoor Advertising and interview with Marty “2 Weeks” Moon on WDIG. Let’s eavesdrop.

“So why are you called ‘2 Billboards’?”

“The same reason why you’re called ‘2 Weeks’. It wasn’t planned that way but in the end, the nickname stuck like brown-stained underwear. At least I didn’t use profanity.”

“Look, ‘Equipment-Manager-cum-2-Billboards’, I’m doing the interviewing round here. And why waste time with billboards? Plenty of other advertising mediums. Like us at WDIG, for example. We have an advertising slot for “Gil eats worms, Spaghetti O’s, and the Big One, not necessarily in that order” between Milford Muffler & More and Mudlark Denture Repair.”

“Thanks for the offer. Right now, billboards seem to be working and the most cost-efficient I can find at this point.”

“Pshaw. Where else are you going to gouge Gil at $50 per slot? We can undercut the competition because we’re WDIG. Ethics belong in a Gideon’s Bible, not here in my studio. And we even supply the writing team. Free!!!! Gratis!!!!!! BTW, I understand you conjure up a lot of YOUR ideas in the equipment shed.”

“This is a false rumor based upon Pee Wee Herman being caught jacking off a shoulder pad. I am nowhere near the shed when I’m writing billboard slogans.”

“In spite of the reports that you were seen with Pee Wee at the basketball games, carping on Gil’s strategy.”

“Look, I’ll admit Pee Wee said that Gil should have done a triangle-and-two on Jefferson and I agreed. Their guards were lighting it up all not long. But that’s all there is to that.”

“Right . Now I understand your billboards got a Triple A Rating from the Better Business Bureau-”

“What is THAT????”

“What is what?”

A wide-screen photograph of Pee Wee in the boy’s bathroom at The Bucket reading a Gideon’s Bible, among other things, in stall #2 appears in back of them.

“It’s Pee Wee!!!!!!!!!!! Get it off!!!!!!!”

“He is.”

“Remove the damn photo on the screen!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Marty nods to someone offstage. A picture of “2 Billboards” Howry standing with Sir Edmund Hilary on Mt. Everest with “2 Billboards”‘s billboard shows up in its stead.

“Now as I was saying, the Chamber of Commerce nominated a couple of candidates last week for President of the C of C Board. They both liked your billboards. They endorsed “Come to Milford, where the only bad part of town is the coaching”. In fact, Dr. Pearl and Pee Wee called me personally and wanted you to be their campaign manager. Billboards are a great inside track for running for office plus it’s great sex therapy and will solve Pee Wee’s ED prob-”

THERE IS NOTHING BETWEEN ME AND PEE WEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“You don’t have to shout. It’s OK to admit that you saw Pee Wee have an affair with Dr. Pearl behind the stack of football helmets, sharing a Bucket Chocolate Shake, feeding each other burgers-”

“What’s that got to do with BILLBOARDS????????”

“Is he giving you any trouble?”

Bacon appears after The Mamas And The Papas, Second Edition just finished an album at Milford Recording Studios.

“Yes, a little.”

Grabs “2 Billboards” by the collar

“All right, ‘2 Billboards’, we’ve had our belly full of your trysts with Pee Wee and dragging down the team as a result. How Gil can design a Statue of Liberty with you 2 love birds in the equipment shed is left for Mary Worth to figure out. Or even Roscoe Sweeney.”

Throws “2 Billboards” into the WMFD station wagon which just stopped at the light

“Get your own comic strip, punk.”

“Yeah, WDIG Studios isn’t big enough for the 3 of us. We can thrash Gil without your help, ‘2 Billboards.'”

 

If yore posin’ in the 20 degree weather in front of the Polaroid One-Step by the billboard advertisin’ Gil takin’ up drag racin, Midget Division, at Milford International Speedway cuz ya admire Gil takin’ up somethin’ he can actually perform without a hitch, ya might be a redneck.

 

I think we can leave P1, comforted that Bozo the Clown is not expressing his concerns about Thorp’s X’s and O’s. He may be a clown but he’s not an idiot. Bozo knows all about going to school board meetings (“Okay, boys and girls, today we’re going to learn about Parliamentary Procedure after I pass out these Archway Cookies. Ummmmmm, isn’t strawberry delicious?”) for questioning-of-coaching-methods procedures. I think it’s also safe to say that that isn’t Mr. Moose, Mr. Green Jeans, Grandfather Clock, or Mr. Burns, Homer’s boss (which doesn’t belong on the list?-I can see the brain teaser) .

And really, as long as “2 Billboards” is short on reality, why not cut reality even shorter by walking into the station manager’s office at WDIG and asking him what your purpose should be in life? Y’know, “2 Billboards”, I will remember that the next time I’m having a mid-life crisis, suffering from a career change. Simple. Call Murray the K. Skip the employment agency, they only steer you to Whopper-maker at Burger King (“Come dress to impress. Must be able to work at least 32 hours and know how to run the Whopper press…”) , Howry. Let’s hit the Mother Lode and ask Wolfman Jack if Janitorial Science is the right career for you.

Clap for the Wolfman

“Awooooooooooooo, do ya like toilet plungers, My Friend?”

“Sure. I always use ’em, especially when the gas won’t pump in my gas tank hose. Just one plunge and the octane hits bottom.”

“My Man, awooooooooooooo, I think yuz on the right career path. Milford Community College has an 8-week night class beginning in March. And they’ll waive the enrollment fee. The last 2 weeks of the class is on-the job-training. By then, you’ll know what sanitizer to use when filling the soap dispenser and toilet brush to use when cleaning the vomit out of the toilet. Awoooooooooooooo, Wolfman can get carried away with the Jack when doin’ the night show. They’ll start you off on the 3rd floor latrines. The Wolfman’ll feel safe takin’ a #2, knowin’ I’m in competent hands.

But hurry, classes are fillin’ fast. Ya got me as a reference. That ought get ya in if ya enroll late. Awooooooooooooooooo.”

 

Today’s Black History Month entry goes to John Marshall Alexander, Jr., or Johnny Ace. A man with an excellent even voice, the dude strung together several hits like “Cross My Heart”, “Please Forgive Me”, “The Clock”, “Saving My Love For You”, “Never Let Me Go”, and his #1 hit, “Pledging My Love”. He is embraced by musicians such as Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, David Allen Coe, Elvis Presley, and Paul Simon, who, like me, enjoy his irresistable crooning. He toured heavily with B.B. king and Big Mama Thornton. In fact, tragically enough, while touring with the latter on December 25th, 1954, while carelessly messing with a gun, he accidentally shot himself and instantly died. A VERY promising career was needlessly cut short. Please join me in reviving his career by spreading the word about a VERY talented and outstanding career who only saw good times ahead, had he lived.

 

 

So introducing P2 orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

vocational guidance counselor

Vocational Guidance Counselor

VOCATIONAL GUIDANCE COUNSELORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

 

“…and Mr. Thorp, based upon your test results, I think I can say, without fer of contradiction, that the best vocation suited for you is chartered accounting.”

Gil “Several Plots” Thorp is stupified

“But I already AM a chartered accountant.”

“Well, we can always dig into the files again. Have you tried banking? Or perhaps international finance? You can work with Bhutan on all their bankrupt ledgers-”

“No, no, I’m fed up with 60+ years of figuring people’s taxes, revenues, debits, credits, that sort of thing. I want something ADVENTUROUS.”

“Adventurous? You dare want to be a lion tamer???”

“Nah, too easy. I kicked one in the nuts at the Milford Petting Zoo. I had him lickin’ like Dino when kids would feed him  Milk Bones.”

“Or underwater shark hunting?”

“Shoot, you checked out Red Lobster’s menu? There’s so much shark meat, they sold the excess to Hardee’s because they had a Thickburger shortage.”

“What about the Green Berets??”

“We’re the ones who assassinated Hussain. It was a cinch. Caught him air-guitaring “Rocky Mountain Way” in a minaret. Dead duck.”

“Then what Is it that you want with your life?”

“I’d like to coach.”

COACH???????????

“Sure. It looks easy. Boss around some players, they win the State and you get all the credit. Don’t have to worry about plots or plays, they just work themselves out while you live large on the golf course. After the players win the 10th State Championship, they’ll build a mansion for you where you can retire and vacation in Florida in the winter. Player’s’ll go south to visit you. They have been for the last 60+ years. Except for Pulver but he’s an asshole.”

“Coach, it’s not Easy Street as you envision. Long hours, irate parents, players always wanting PT, bad officials. Then you have Marty Moon.”

Gil is cringing

“Have you ever ween him without his goatee???? ARRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH”

“NO!!!!!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! He’s a Bohemian who LOOKS like a Bohemian!!!!!!!!!!! Take that picture away. I didn’t know he had that many teeth!!!!!!!!!! Or pimples!!!!!!!!!! He has more than on Mimi’s butt. Just don’t let him broadcast. They’ll think Beetlejuice took over the mike at the Milford games!!!!!!!!!! And that overbite…”

“Folks, you can help Mr. Thorp realize his true calling in life by writing to this address

The League For Milford’s Chartered Accountants

P.O. Box 7777

Milford, USA

 

Must be sent as Registered Mail. It’s a serious problem, folks.”

 

Gang, comment away. I’m going to see the station manager later on. I hear there’s a career in oil-well drilling in North Dakota. I can pay off my Meijer card.

 

 

 

 

“Awwwwwwww, SLAM BAM JAM, MIKE. What a dunkeroo by Hieronimus Adolphus Caesar, they got him groomed for the next Head Caesar job when he graduates. That was a manhood-stripper. He made that lion eat his lunch!!!!!!! He’s on my all-Chocolate Thunder team, along with Julius Flavius Vextus. Too bad Vextus got eaten cuz he couldn’t out run the lions on the fast break. But that’s college basketball in the Colosseum.”

 

“Awoooooooooooooo, Werewolves of London, Awooooooooooooooo….”

Mick Fleetwood just shakes his head as he throws the drumsticks in the corner and looks mournfully at John McVie. Mac is packing up his bass.

“Booby, hate ta tell ya, mate, yore no Zevon. Stick ta billboard-scrawlin’.”

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All The World’s At Milford’s Gym But There Are No Actors

Gang, if you’re looking to start out the day on a cheery note, you might want to skip today’s strip. Filion is getting comfortably numb when he’s not reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy. And it, of course, is interfering with any basketball action, ay, there’s the rub. Thank God the National High School Athletic Board approved of the make-up schedule after all the snow days, rain days, soap opera distractions, Gil’s hunting trips to Nepal, Mimi’s appointment at the hairdresser,  Kaz’s unused sick days, Dr. Pearl’s annual Teacher Enrichment Seminar Retreat at Mudlark Lake, Dr. Pearl’s Annual Wig-Shedding event, WDIG’s pre-empting Mudlark basketball games to cover ESPN’s Big Monday (“Look at Gil’s hair bob up and down while a Mudlark sets a down screen on the weak side and there’s no help on defense or for  Gil’s hair-FREEZE IT”) , and Luhm’s calling the Orkin man to machine gun all the roaches in the gym. I don’t know, some guy dressed like Mr. Freeze with a long hose attached to a couple of air tanks on his back so he can stage a Holocaust  on all the bugs, couldn’t we slip in a game or two?

ANYWAY, until the end of February, all games, played at 3 per day, including girls’ basketball, should get things caught up, barring Valentine’s Day, nobody’s going to be in the mood to slam dunk a basketball after he or she ate the whole box of Russell Stover Cherry Cremes given by grandma or mom or a girlfriend. Gastronemic considerations and fancies of love flings were taken into consideration when discussing make-up dates. And the girls’ season would end tomorrow at that rate as a 5-game schedule enables us to say sayonara to a season that really never was. I hate to admit it, gang, but I missed not being able to watch Mimi high-five a girl after her Lady mudlarks dismantled a team in 2 panels. Missing those missed memories is killing me.

“Ah haaaaaa, Coach Torp. I FINALLY have you vere I vant you. You vill be mine forever and ever. I vill reign over Gotham City AND Milford.”

“That’s nice, Mr. Freeze. BTW, could you respray the girls stalls? I saw a couple of critters scoot by.”

 

And while I’m exploring all the wonderful possibilities of all the boys games being wrapped up before the Playdowns and/or The Bucket calling it a night, assuming Mr. Freeze nuked all the roaches with cybernetic bug spray (works better than Roach Motel, trust me) , take a look at P1. Geez, it is tearing my heart out to see Filion in Death Valley. At least U2 made an album, “The Joshua Tree”, when they returned to the surface.

But even Filion’s butt appears to be mired in the pits of Hell. It’s times like this I’d rather have Plumber’s Butt. All I need to do is get a longer shirt.

“Why the long Plumber’s Butt?”

“Oh, my dog just died and Santa got ran over by his reindeer. And The Bucket is going to shut down indefinitely after Mr. Freeze stunk out the bathroom when his icer broke down at the same time he devoured that Bucket o’ Tex-Mex Chili w/ Jalapeno Peppers. The EPA will have to give clearance after the Milford
City Department deodorizes everything.  They had to evacuate residents within 2 blocks of the place.”

 

It doesn’t help that Gil is failing as a mental health therapist. Gil, just because you’ve read all those Psychology Today magazines while you were waiting for Mimi in the gynecologist’s office. doesn’t entitle you to spit-shine that Ph.D in Clinical
Psychology with Windex so that it streaks diagonally. I know some of your certificates on the wall have streaked the Norman Cross, but sheesh. Then you press your luck by mounting that Ph.D  next to the railroad-crossing-streaked Real Estate License you earned from the corresponding course at Milford Real Estate Solutions on the computer. Next thing you know, you’ll be using Turtle Wax  on that suitable-for-streaking Dow-Jones-streaked Kentucky Colonel certificate. Buffer it nicely so the streak is spotless when you’re entertaining the guests in your office. We wouldn’t anybody to think you’re a slob.

 

Hello (Hello. Hello)

Is there anybody out there?

Can anybody hear me?

Are we close to tip-off time?

 

Sue me, you whippersnappers, I had to satisfy my Floyd fix. I’m just trying to figure out what the heck to do when I see a teenager dragging his Plumber’s Butt in Gil’s office and Gil makes a sorry-ass attempt at Handy Man. Talk about jack-of-all-trades, master of none. Gil, you can’t use a ball-peen hammer or an Allen wrench on a guy who’s comfortably numb. But leave it to Gil to ignore the advice.

What are the readers supposed to think when it takes a week for Gil to tell Filion to GO SEE A SHRINK????????? We’re almost to Friday and Gil is hem-hawing on this one? What was he thinking, go to the Snap-On Tool man for a 3/8 when the dude makes the rounds every week? That’s right, Gil, head towards the UPS-like truck and ask for a hacksaw when Filion is going schizo. And don’t forget to put a plumbline on his head. He might look funny with this blue streak running down his nose but if that’s the price we pay for psychoanalysis, I’m all for Holistic healing, by dingies. And you might need a Briggs &  Stratton cordless drill when Filion says he’s Napoleon. No need for a strait jacket when all ya gotta do is drill his forehead should he go too far.

Why not read him a bedtime story and let him suck his thumb. Steal Linus’ blanket and give him some security. I read this Dr. Seuss story the other day and it is perfect.

 

Makes no sense at all

There’s no basketball

Said the Cat in the Hat

In the hall

 

Gil Thorp and wife Mimi

Are getting progressively steamy

The rest of us hit The Bucket

For green eggs and fettucini

 

Boy, if that doesn’t put him to sleep in that cot you rolled out in your office and keep him from slashing his wrists in the bargain, Marty Moon didn’t make little green apples in the summertime.

 

 

Stand up (Stand up Stand up)

I think the PALS is working good

That should work for tomorrow’s game

Your shooting won’t be the same

 

There is no pain

You are a wussy

Coming in when

I break down the D

Don’t forget to drink it with tap

Your rebounding will be a snap

Youuuuuuu have become

Comfortably dumb

 

 

Dr. Pearl approaches Gil at the faculty table in the cafeteria

“Gil, I’m a little concerned for Mike. Did you loan him a gym towel? Because he’s over by the Hostess rack rubbing the towel on his head while sucking his thumb.”

Some things are better left in “Snoopy has Rabies, Charlie Brown”.

 

Then there’s P2. Oh my God, either that is a painting between “Death in the Family” and “A Question of Fear” on the Night Gallery or some idiot, while taking a drag from his Marlboro Menthol Lights 400’s and/or sipping his Diet Cherry Mountain Dew knocked over the jar of black paint and good reflexes kept P2 from Filion being afflicted with a blackhead the size of a slaughterball that Clearasil couldn’t dissolve down the garbage disposal. I’m opting for the former.

And you Rush fans (been a 2112 freak like you all) are in for a treat. This plot couldn’t get any more saturnine and since reading “Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs” hasn’t sent him to La La Land (“Gil, you read with such ENTHUSIASM”) and he is STILL in his present funk, it’s only right that I quote from 2112, “Soliloquy” the tune, a one a two,

 

The basketball is still in my eyes

Mouthguard still in my head

I hear you rambling and sadly smile

And lie a while in your bed

 

I wish your speech might come to pass

And fade like all my dreams

 

Thinking of what this team can be

Playing like the ’96 Bulls

But the ‘Larks can’t carry on

Pretend we’ll fight for the Championship

 

Why don’t we end this silly charade

And

Play

Basketballllllllllllll

 

Electric Alex Lifeson solo for several minutes, suddenly Steve Luhm breaks in on Dr. Pearl’s intercom after playing “3 Blind Mice” on the xylophone as an intro

“Attention all you Milford Mudlarks out there, this is the Dictator of the Confederation

We have assumed control

We have assumed control

We have assumed control”

 

Dr. Pearl approaches Gil at the faculty table in the cafeteria

“Gil, I’m a little concerned. I caught Filion with a blanket sucking his thumb with his head buried in the toilet.”

“Wait a minute, what were you doing in the boys’ room?”

“We were short-handed for hallway duty today, remember?”

Ah, well, nobody can’t say I didn’t give Filion the ol’ college try. Better than a trowel from Snap-On Tools.

 

BTW, is Gil wearing kilts in P1? Never mind.

 

P3 is scaring the daylights out of me. What is Gil going to do, give him a shot? Brother, I can see this. Go for it, Gil. Dig that needle the size of a putty gun out of your desk that you left under the spare umpire ball bag, indicator included, in case some dumbass umpire left his at home when doing your games in the Spring, and just plow that needle straight ahead in Filion’s Gluteus Maximus. You may fire when ready, Gridley.

 

Okay (Okay Okay)

You might feel a little prick

But there’ll be no more

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

But you might feel a little sick

 

At the doctor’s office

“How did his cheeks get glued together, Nurse Ratchet?”

“Gil, used the wrong injection again, Doctor.”

 

 

“They’re Rockin’ and Rollin’ here in Mudlarkland!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Filion’s a Diaper Dandy. Boy, he’s awesome, Baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I love Aardvark when he Slam Bam Jams!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And he cleans the glass so well, I’ve put him on my All-Windex Team!!!!!!!!!!!!! Better get a T.O., Coach Andrews, I’m smellin’ a run by Milford!!!!!!!!!!”

“Time out is called out on the floor. This is Mike Patrick along with Dick Vitale, with the score, Milford, 54, Oakwood, 44. We’ll be right back after these messages.”

 

“Do you want to spend a weekend with the kids but still enjoy the finer things that life has to offer? Hi, this is Coach Thorp. I’ve asked the same question myself, especially when I’m with the travel squad.

The Milford Beverage Warehouse has just completed tghe multi-million dollar Budweiser Multi-Purpose Family Playground & Generic Recreation Facility, or Budplex, as we call it around here.

Shoot, you don’t need to go driving around the neighborhood looking for a jungle gym when there’s 10 to hang from right here where you can get your favorite Message in a Bottle. Sipping from a Canadian Mist 750 ml while hanging upside down while kiddies go play hide-and-seek? Ma, plenty of room to hide in this bad boy. And we have Pinkertons to make sure they don’t hide in roped-off areas. Don’t want Jack and Jill clueless around the Boone’s Farm shelf, now, do we?

It’s a blast going down the slide with Keri and Jaime as I satisfy my taste buds with a long-neck bottle of Heineken from a 12-pak. And if you aren’t afraid of heights, you can teeter-totter with your kids guzzling any Smirnoff. Shoot, if you can walk and chew gum at the same time, going up and down with your daughter while keeping every drop in your shot glass oughta be a breeze. Trampolining with the munchkins with your tummy chilled with Michelob Ultra. Buddy, only doing the same thing with the Swedish Bikini Team is better.

Why go down to McDonald’s to their playground when all you’ll be running circles on the merry-go-round forever with just a Happy Meal? Man, that’s no fun. Who wants to get dizzy and puke up a small order of fries? Come on down to Milford Beverage Warehouse where you can get it on with the kids legally and they don’t even card you at the playground. Works for me. Come on down, Milford. Give your kids the thrill of their lives and enjoy a tall boy too. Only at Milford Beverage Warehouse.”

 

“Today’s Black History Month entry is another person dear to my heart, Phil Lynott (LINE-it) . You may not know his name but many of you know his group, Thin Lizzy. Phil is an Irish African-American who really got the ball rolling on the Double Lead Guitar sound which just ABSOLUTELY worked and worked well. It came in handy for his most well-known song, “The Boys Are Back in Town” which has just flat-out been a standard for a lot of scenarios, in particular sports scenarios. Yeah, our Boys are gonna whoop some butt this season cuz they’re back in town.

Phil also sent “Whisky in the Jar” and “Jailbreak” to the charts for good measure and was also noted as a STRONG songwriter (trust me on that one) . Phil broke the mold that African-Americans were confined to R & B, Disco, and Jazz. His kick-ass Rock ‘n’ Roll style has an audience with me. Please join me in saluting a man who has long been overlooked for his talents and his contributions to Rock ‘n’ Roll. RIP, Phil. Ya done good, My Man.

 

Gang, if you’re not comfortably numb, take ‘er away. Give Gil the ride of his life since we’re being taken for one ourselves. Only right.

 

Dr. Pearl approaches Gil at the faculty table in the cafeteria

“Gil, I’m a little concerned. Mike is attached to that blanket while sucking his thumb.”

“Dr. Pearl, you interrupted my Boston Market Meat Loaf and Bucket Fries for THAT??? He’ll grow out of it. What’s the big whoop-de-da????”

“He’s using the other end to wipe.”

Today, Marty “Scoop” Moon. Tomorrow, Rush Limbaugh And Allen Colmes!!!!!!!!!!!

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’.”

 

 

Once Again, We Are Confronted With (Select Random Milford Student On The Screen) And His/Her (Select One: Ghosts, Shaky Past, Generic Problems) That Will Supplant (Select One: Football, Basketball, Baseball, Golf or Hockey or Track, Depending On How The Plot Shakes Out For The Latter Three).

 

Gang, looks like we have set aside Snoopy battling the Red Baron in the name of warding off the Commies from billboard vandalism and now we’re plopped in a sudden jerk of direction for the, you guessed it, the soap opera version of the strip. If you can imagine “Days of our Lives” in the middle of “The Sporting News”, you have a firm grasp on the situation at hand.

And to put it in perspective, try imagining Ralph Kramden stepping into Gil’s domain, as long as we’re going to sidestep Dr. Pearl because evidently she spends more time down at the Milford Bingo Parlor rather than running a high school, and talking about Norton’s academic woes causing his bowling average to nosedive. Just try, I know you can do it.

“Gil, you and I have been buddies a long time and I remember when you were cleaning out the tail pipes of the Milford Shuttle Lines and mopping up the bathroom floor and usin’ the toilet plunger to shove a lotta doo-doo through the lines so this should come as no shock.

Norton is flunkin’ Algebra I, just seems to have problems figurin’ out the difference between Addition Property of Equality and Denying The Antecedent and he’s also barely passin’ English Composition III. For some reason, he keeps dangling modifiers and writin’ run-on sentences when he’s doin’ his book report on Ivan Turganev’s “A Sportsman’s Notebook”. And cripes, don’t get me started on U.S. Geography. He still thinks Hawaii is a U.S. possession. I hope to God he don’t answer that we annexed the Yukon Territory or he’s gonna flunk his Finals. He’ll never pick up that spare if he keeps insisting that Puerto Rico has a team in the NBA. It ain’t a state yet, pal.”

“I’ll talk with him. He had to have been the culprit who put the message on that billboard by the truck stop “Mediocrity and Stuckey’s are not alike in fact try the new 10-pound Tenderloin sandwich only $599.”

I suppose it’s better than James Brown’s sister being one of the rest of Milford’s 4,567 teachers who down through the years realize it is a waste of time to travel the pipeline to Principal Ek or Dr. Pearl when there’s a convenient detour leading to Gil’s office. In fact, when you hit the front door ( you didn’t notice the flagman with his “Slow” sign?) , you should see the sign that says “Hallway will be closed from 1958 to the present” due to construction on a better plot. Gang, I’d use an alternate route if it were me, even if I had to go to Luhm’s office which, when you think about it, has become a conduit leading to Gil.

So now we are left to slog through the plot just after a couple of days before we witnessed some Jordanesque moves. I guess we really can’t expect the 4,568 teachers to follow suit, not even perform the layup drills just to humor us, so kick back for some more J.R. Ewing and like it. Maybe after we slam down the antenna down on the boob tube a few times, we MIGHT return to basketball. Jerry Pulver ripping down another rebound without having to worry about seeing the Trinity River in the opening of “Dallas? It could happen.

 

Belated shout-out to Courtney Cooper of Louisville, Kentucky, who, though confined to a wheelchair, was out shopping at Wal-Mart and, boy, did she get her money’s worth. 4 bags and a mini-bag testified to her will to get out and about. Like Dan Fogelberg, her choices were clear and she chose to get busy livin’. Her friend, Angela Flanagan was there to guide her along and she is living herself. Angela is making this life worthwhile through her quiet strength, will, and determination. Both Courtney and Angela represent America through their nuts and bolts approach and IT WORKS. Treat them with respect PLEASE.

 

 

“So the badger says to the mushroom, ‘I can go down the hole faster than you can say ‘Hank Finkel’, morel.’

‘Big friggin’ deal’, replied the mushroom, ‘We run the Mushroom Marriott Suites at the tectonic level, rates starting at $57.99 and up, and we also serve Cheerios and Fruit Loops for breakfast while the Milford Holiday Inn doesn’t even serve Cocoa Puffs. I didn’t see you bring your Samsonite!!!!!!!!'”

The Milford Comedy Club ran out of onion rings and are forced to fix up a batch of bagels and lox.

 

“…a zebra from Madagascar???????”

 

If yore pickup has more giddy-up and stop than a dangling modifier cuz yore transmission don’t even run on a sentence, let alone a bottle of Dasani and ya bypass AAMCO ta have Merle and Geech have a look at it, ya might be a redneck.

 

 

CANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACHCANTCOACH

GOLF COURSE GOLF COURSE

ERNIE AND HIS PARRRRRROOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTT

 

“Dag nab it, Kaz, didn’t I tell you to keep Moon out? If he sees our basketball players going down holes, we’ve got a lot of explaining to do. I wanted to keep this aerobics class a secret to motivate my players without attracting a lot of publicity.”

“Gil, I tried but he snuck through the vents. He used one of the holes to climb up the chute. I caught his camera just about when the team was aerobicizing to

FILION’S DEMMMMMMMMMOOOOOONNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

 

And while I’m enjoying Mrs. Living in America express her concerns over Filion’s funk, I wouldn’t put it past Thorpiverse to turn this basketball plot into “Invasion of The Body Snatchers.”

“Gil, he used to be able to dunk with two hands but now he can’t even thrown down on a Nerfhoop. Something’s different about him.”

Think about it. Thorpiverse desperate for ratings, attempts a new twist to the plot in the name of bringing back part of the audience who switched over to Roscoe Sweeney. There’s more of a chance of him and Buzz Sawyer playing one-on-one basketball in Sawyer’s driveway than perhaps the next few panels of this strip. I thought I’d never say that but as Dylan said, the times are definitely changin’. So the next thing you know, a pod appears beside Gil’s bed and essentially strangulates Gil and he becomes like Filion and the body-snatching of Milford is complete. Everybody’s got that monotone personality and they screech like an owl when they confront someone who is still human.

Now what do you do?

Invent some antidote, pick up the prescription at Milford Pharmacy, revive the players and incite them to go on to kick some A in the Playdowns and eventually bag another State Championship trophy. Hey, there was an antidote in Snow White. Maybe leave a couple of stragglers, say, Tiki, i.e., keep his pod by his bed, let him be an outcast for a few months and repeat the process in baseball. Instant plot renewal. You can retrieve the fan base once again and still win. In the bag.

 

Gang, remember when the episode on “Happy Days” where Richie Cunningham is trying to get Clarabelle the Clown’s face without his makeup? Like the group Kiss, their makeup was their persona and raison d’etre.

That said, Richie contrives a plot where he’s going to enter the Howdy Doody look-Alike Contest and by getting close enough to the action by being on the premises where he cango behind the scenes, he reasons that he has an excellent chance of photographing Clarabelle without his facade.

Of course, he has to get past the contest per se and the idea of Richie’s standing next to 3 8-year-old boys, all in their Howdy outfits is hilarious when you imagine the discrepancy. Cowboy Bob walks by each contestant to register the amount of applause each contestant gets and when he gets to Richie, the audience understandably applauds with a great amount of incredulity but nowhere near the level of the other three boys.

Still, winning the contest was not the intention, sorta like a Milford Baseball player on some Little League team in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, the team going on to win the World Championship. I’m sure he’d be uncomfortable posing with them, sorta like posing with the Rockettes. Anyway, Richie gets consoled by Cowboy Bob backstage which Richie takes in stride, really, what choice does he have? Especially when Cowboy Bob STILL appears to be oblivious to Richie’s intentions (“Kaz, why is Richie the C taking that basketball rack full of basketballs out to his station wagon?”) .

Suddenly, Richie spots his window of opportunity. Clarabelle the Clown has his makeup COMPLETELY OFF which gets Richie to grab his camera and get a bulls-eye shoot. He runs out of the studio with his prize possession.

In the next scene, Richie is with his parents, bragging about how Life Magazine had been unsuccessfully banging at the door to get his unmasked mug before the world. Richie is in hog heaven when he hears the doorbell ring. it’s Cowboy Bob and Clarabelle the Clown, the latter back in his makeup. And after the intros, Cowboy Bob tugs at Richie’s heart by explaining that if Clarabelle the Clown was ever unmasked, it would be the end of him, like The Joker revealing to the world that Batman is really Bruce Wayne. Richie swallows hard but decides in the end, perhaps wisely enough, to tear up the photograph. Tears of joy come out of Clarabelle the Clown  as Cowboy Bob observes (“All over the living room floor”-Mrs. Cunningham) .

Before we go any further, nobody questioned Richie’s motives when he was clearly a head above the competition? I mean, If Kareem were to enter the same contest and stand next to the same three boys, I’d be wondering what a guy 4 feet taller than the other guys in the room has up[his sleeve. The TV producer or the key grip or the #2 cameraman or even Cowboy Bob just lets Kareem participate anyway?

And where’s he going to put the Howdy trophy if he wins? In the trophy case next to his 1971 MVP Trophy? He’ll tell his grandkids that he slam-dunked Dennis the Menace because Dennis had blond hair and Howdy Doody had a thing for his afro? Cowboy Bob had considered converting to Islam and changing his moniker to Cowboy Shareef Abdul-Aziz?

Then there’s the camera. If a 7-footer with a Polaroid carries it past security and stashes it in the guest locker next to Clarabelle the Clown, knowing the latter is high risk, somebody at WDIG Studios where they hold the show oughta fire the Pinkertons.

“Well, Kareem, I knew you had it in ya. Congratulations!!!!!!!!!”

“Thanks. I was a little worried because Tommy Heinsohn did a nice job with that Revlon painting freckles on himself. But I was confident.”

“And well you should. And that Hank Finkel had no chance. Those Dingo Boots and that Arrow shirt just didn’t cut it. And he got tangled up in his own Howdy strings trying to get a drink of water. You were most definitely a cut above.”

“Thanks, Cowboy Bob.” They shake hands and part ways.

Kareem sees the kill. Headin’ to the locker and

FFFLLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

At the L.A. Forum one day

“…Kareem, it’d be like Freddy Krueger chopping of your right arm with an axe so you couldn’t shoot the Sky Hook…”

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Places 3rd In The Howdy Doody Look-Alike Contest!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Luhm’s grandsons finish 1-2 in day-long event; Marty Moon disqualified due to goatee.”

 

Gang, have at it. Nothing like Kaz to weigh in when he has nothing better to do than add to the Body Snatcher discussion when he’s not Rent-A-Teacher. Really, Gil could have asked the other 4,566 teachers at Milford High about that pod in Filion’s locker but might have been repelled by Spicoli’s reefer odors in the adjoining locker. So when you’re worried that Filion turns into a zombie, just bail out and go to Kaz and pump some information.

“Kaz, I heard rumors that Filion ate one of the cafeteria ladies.”

“New one on me, Gil. I did notice him snortin’ with Spicoli out in his van but everybody reported for work in the cafeteria.”

 

Finally, I noticed that the world’s (reportedly) oldest human at 120-something was really a sham, her 99-year-old daughter evidently picking up the slack. You can understand my decision to stay neutral in this one.

“No, I saw her down at The Bucket sitting in the Senior Citizen’s Section, chowin’ down on a Bucket Liver Cheeseburger that she got with her Bucket Senior Discount, 15% off one of those babies. I know because I remember she couldn’t drink Mudlar-K-Cola Cherry Burst because the cherry formula would leave permanent stains on her dentures. Had to resort to milk.”

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Milford Historical Society Doubts Authenticity Of Gil’s Having Had Lunch At The Bucket With Chester A. Arthur.”

sub headline

“Documents confirm that The Bucket was established during Cleveland’s 2nd term; sources also point out that Dr. Pearl was a 9-year-old attending Milford Normal School.”

I’ll Go Mow The Front Lawn, You Go Save Your Par

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO doo

Doo DOO!!!!!!!!

 

You auctioned off the football plot

And watched a lot of movies

Then let a Bozo joke with the team

 

Basketball is for the birds

There’s no such thing as Larry Bird

The Mudlark 5 are gonna get reamed

 

I’ll go call a time out

While you watch Dickie V

 

Where is my Norman Dale

Where is my Bobby Knight

Where is my Jim Valvano

Where have all the coaches gonnnnnnneeeeeeeeee

 

The TWIMers are in revolt. They’re mad as Hell and not gonna take anymore.

JUST when we thought Gil was going to come out of retirement and COACH after a short stint as a clothier at Milford Big and Tall (the suits made good advertising, Coach) , we find ourselves with deja vu all over again. When he exhorted the troops the other day with advice my nephew would have received when his high school freshman basketball team was in a similar situation and score, I was praying Gil had seen the errors of his ways and was gonna lead the troops into battle. Talk about Benedict Arnold.

 

 

Gang, with the help of Joe Szerletich, I just developed this idea from this video that will absolutely drive you nuts if you keep playing it. Next time  we go to war and we wish to brainwash the enemy into capitalism, I couldn’t think of a better way of erasing the mind with this throbbing, mindless spiel.

 

BADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGERBADGER,

The badgers sinking in the ground as each one is called out then

MUSHROOM MUSHROOM

Comedy relief, evidently

SNAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEE

evidently to break up the monotony or you’d be a Viet Cong guerilla by the end of the ditty.

Get the idea?

Okay

 

GILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORPGILTHORP

MS. RIZK MS. RIZK

MARTYYYYYYYYYYYYYMMMMMMMOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN

 

It almost worked but the Mudlark gym ran out of holes and finally Dr. Pearl had to put her foot down. On the gym floor, of course.

 

And nobody can convince me that basketball action is composed of players returning to WHAT WE THINK is the locker room and even then when did a locker room need a neon sign to direct the players in the proper direction? Sure, If you visit Vegas, there’s plenty of glitter and glitz but people know where the machines are.

“Where’s the croupier? And the roulette wheel? I was on a roll and my wallet is stuffed with greens and I don’t mean collared greens.”

“Sir, you’re at a Burger King. You missed it by a light.”

That’s right, Thorpiverse, install the element of surprise and keep us guessing. Add some mystery and hope to God we don’t notice GIL AIN’T COACHING!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, Gil must have used another sick day but is that ROCKER???? Why would players be heading towards an Aerosmith concert in their gym shorts??? Is that SOCKER????? Somebody can’t spell SOCCER. Is that DOCKER?????? Don’t see Milford Outlet Mall around. Well, there’s only 23 other letters in the alphabet and it can’t be QUOCKER or OOCKER. Damn, I think they’re going to the LOCKER to change clothes. I’ve never known the Indiana Hoosiers or the Kentucky Wildcats to change into their DOCKERS in an AOCKER. Or EOCKER (that sounds like a Greek philosopher who debated with Socrotes at the Agora. Was he the one who issued him the hemlock?) .

And we’re distracted with this spelling bee to distract us from the real problem, GIL AIN’T COACHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What a POCKER.

 

5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME5GAME

HOMER OFFICIALS HOMER OFFICIALS

STINKY PLOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

Gil at Milford Comedy Club on Open Mike Night

“…panda bear from Laos??????????”

Dead quiet in the place. Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse.

Gil reaches for his other pocket. Pulls out Plan B

“Hey, Ladies and Gents, I was in my office when one of the cameo coaches came in and said ‘Coach, I need more work than a film session watching Heather Burns boss around the offensive coordinator (“Run an end-around on 4th and 8? Who hired you?”) . I really haven’t had a bite in 3 days.’ Know what I did?”

People are chowin’ down on the onion rings, dipping them in the marinara sauce

“I bit him!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

They continue dipping, this time in the bar-b-q sauce

“Ladies and Germs, know what ya get when ya transfer this basketball plot to Camp Pendleton? Gomer’s pile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“All The Things You Are”, sung by Chet Baker suddenly blares on the intercom.

Next time, Gil.

 

 

 

Your coaching’s in absentia

Your defense schemes demented

The gym just ran a flea market gig

 

I put on my seersucker

Whistled to the players

X and O’s I diagrammed big

 

I’ll go call the Give and Go

You order Domino’s

 

Where is my Norman Dale

Where is my Bobby Knight

Where is my senile Hank Iba

Where have all the coaches gonnnnnnnneeeeeee

 

I designed a Picket Fence

For an easy slam

And you didn’t even

Notice ittttttttttttt (Was a face job)

ttttttttttttttttttttttt  (Was a poster shot)

tttttttttttttttttttttttt (Set the picks right)

tttttttttttttttttttttttt (Crowd was mummified)

 

Because I don’t understand, when reading in a quiz online, that one of the answers for what an ox eats regularly was a tuna fish sandwich

 

“So the ox walks into the bistro and orders a tuna sandwich with Julien fries and a Choc-ola. He slurps the Choc-ola, scarfs the Julien fries and then yanks a can of out-dated Star-Kist Tuna out of his horn. When Charlie the Tuna the Waiter accosted him, he asked, “Arent you going to eat your sandwich? Why are you eating from that can?”

And the ox replied, “Sorry, Charlie, but only oxen eat the best-tasting tuna which they can drag from their horn or tail or butt or tetlock that gets to be Star-Kist. Did you ever consider feeding my sandwich to the goldfish in your aquarium? I’m sure they’re tired of Ensure Fish Formula.”

The audience just ordered another round of onion rings. This is gonna be a long night. Bad comedians usually require 4 rounds before he gets the hint but Gil might need the loading dock.

And good God there’s P2 and P3. Are we due for ANOTHER Keystone Kop adventure where we just go ’round and ’round for a while that will deliver another tepid inconclusive ending? Football did a wonderful job of that. We never knew what happened the rest of the season although for the consolation prize we learn that Tiki didn’t live in a shtetl after all. Man, if this were Snow White, the Prince would be kissing the evil stepmother in the end. Gang, I don’t know about you but if Mimi was lying In State on some catafalque in Gil’s back yard, I’m sure Gil wouldn’t call Marty over to awaken her with a kiss, even if Marty used Scope. Really, snakes devouring Breath-Mints just doesn’t stem the odor of stinky plots.

Now that we know that The Milford Star is the cross-town rival of the Milford Enquirer, we are introduced to 2 gentlemen we’ve never seen before and so what else is new. Us TWIMers are used to our mothers-in-law dropping in every other day so when we’re about to sit down to dinner, Mommy Dearest barges in with her Chinet Paper Plate.

I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Slightly-Overweight-And-Should-Moderately-Reduce-Twinkie-Intake-But-Blu-Blocker-Grandpa-Glasses-Is-So-Joe-Cool is the editor and Coach Shaw’s younger brother is a reporter. Why send the janitor out to do some fact-finding?

And I’d be curious too. But where the Hell are you going to look FIRST???? In the deep fryer cage at The Bucket??? Ernie’s parrot???? I’ll bet that parrot can squawk a lot of info if you feed him enough Ritz’s Bitz. Lassie?????

“Okay, Lassie, who did those billboards????”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Outdoor Advertising?????? I thought they went out of business.”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!”

“I didn’t know they were part of the bailout involving General Motors.”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!”

“And some kid with Glasses slipped a 100 to cover the Wal-Mart promo??????”

“RUFF!!!!!!!!!!!”

“200. My bad. I’m gettin’ hard of hearing.”

And the next 2 panels indicate that basketball ONCE AGAIN will take a back seat to Lou Grant. Can we at least bring back Mary Tyler Moore for comedy relief because we’re gonna need it.

Really, what are you gonna say to the State Trooper if he catches you up in the billboard, snooping for some clues????? But as Little Bro Shaw says, news is in the eye of the editor. We just wish those eyes were in, say, Mary Worth, and we could get on with BASKETBALL. Coach, you know, the one Naismith invented? You’re still taking the ball out of the peach basket.

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Milford Farmer’s Cooperative Disputes Research Findings Over Cattle Eating Star-Kist Tuna!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Co-op says grain-fed beef is healthier and meatier than tuna-fed beef.”

 

“Honnnnneyyyyyy, I’m hanging a mistletoe over you. You know what THAT means!!!!!!!”

Coach Shaw is reading an article in Milford Outdoors about Marty Moon. Priming himself for another upcoming episode in Milford Nature Area, Marty was taking target practice on some dead skunk’s butt at the Milford Conservation Club before Coach Shaw was forced to look up.

If it means he can find out if they at least cleaned out the skunk’s innards before taping a bulls-eye on his derriere, he will gladly pucker up.

SMACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Pretty satisfied himself, he learns that Marty wasn’t legally registered with that paintball gun and must buy a temporary permit at the Club’s business office.

But then there’s Round 2. And it’s not a puny mistletoe flagellating over him. It’s one of the logs in the log rack that was modeled after a Brunswick T Zone Caribbean Blue Bowling Ball. She has to use an engine hoist to hang the log over his head but whatever works.

Coach Shaw, annoyed at his inability to find out if the park ranger would issue fines, looks around to see where the pulley noise is coming  from.

Then he looked up.

A gigantic pin oak log is barely 3 inches from his head.

“Darlin’, what in the name of cameo coaches are you doing?”

“Honey, I lifted the log over your wittle head to symbolize I wanted a wittle more in our relationship. Much more, my wittle wee-wee boy.”

Ignoring the petulant baby talk,

“Dear, do you have to act like a lumberjack to get a kiss? I don’t feel like smooching with the Brawny guy.”

“Actually, this Brawny girl wants more than a kiss. I want us to come to beddie-weddie so the Brawny Girl can cut some more logs and make some paper towels. Isn’t that FUN???????”

“I’d rather squeeze the Charmin and get my ass chewed out by Mr. Whipple.”

Coach Shaw is fending off the baby talk because his train of thought is in abeyance. He wonders if Marty will also have to buy deer tags.

“Look, can’t it wait? Marty is hanging on a cliff and my heart is racing to see if he has to spend a night in jail. Paintball-splashing without a doe permit is pretty serious stuff.”

“This doe is wanting her 8-point buck to stick one of his points into the doe’s canyon.” She menacingly points the pin oak log at him to literally home the point. The shoe is on the other foot. “Now put down the wittle maga-zeen-ee and wet’s go to bed so the Big Bad Wolf can corrupt his wittle Bambi.”

“I’d rather huff and puff and BLOWABUBBABUBBLEBUBBABUBBLEBUBBABUBBLE Bambi’s house down. Darling, Peaches is trying to get Marty’s dead to the house because he could land in the Federal Pen. Paintball-splashing a chipmunk within 50 feet of the Park Ranger’s built-in swimming pool is pretty serious stuff!!!!!!!!!!!”

“All righty then.” Coach Shaw is suspicious of the change of pitch. Mrs. Shaw pitches the pin oak in the fire. Out of the andirons, she produces a gun. “You force me to desperate measures.”

Coach Shaw is seeing his life before his eyes in Technicolor. He never thought he’d see the day when Dirty Harriet would stick a Magnumnin his crotch or his chest to get sex.

“This is a paintball gun, the most potent weapon to ruin your camouflage outfit. It can splotch paint all over that Milford Gun Club shirt. If I hit it, it will take Borax and the rest of the 11,000 miles to clean the damn thing. Then you have to dry-clean it which is expensive THEN you have to leave it on the clothesline for a week. Your shirt next to your pajamas, the ones with Tom and Jerry on them? And your nightshirt with Droopy on the front? What will your buddies think?”

She is hitting below the belt now. Coach Shaw is panicking. “Now, in all this arguing, I kinda lost count. Was it 5? Or was it 6? Do you feel lucky, Honey?”

Coach Shaw is staring straight down the barrel and thinking. The magazine article or sex with his #2 pencil? The magazine sits in limbo on the coffee table by the M lamp (MTV or Mudlarks, either one.) .

“Well, do you?”

 

“I didn’t want to find out. Some things are just better left investigated by Dirty Harry and Joe Friday. Did you ever see Harry with a pink splotch on his Le Tigre jacket? Therefore, I went to Milford Men’s Clinic pronto because logs are for fires, not subtle hints that someone’s hot flashes are raging hotter than the hearth at Gil’s Christmas party. A mistletoe was simply not going to stem the conflagration in Milford National Forest. I had to fight fire with fire. Now, I’m a French Revolution about to descend on the aristocracy. King Louis XIV never knew what hit him. And Mrs. Louis XIV is having the time of her life, experiencing the most ethereal of sexual pleasures while we both watch the Palace of Versailles burn to the ground.

If you’d like to experience Bastille Day for yourself, come to Milford Men’s Clinic today. Renew the fires in your marriage and keep your own Fruit of the Looms free of orange splotches. Watching the Bay of Pigs invasion with a pair of stainless Hanes is what Milford Men’s Clinic is all about.

Gang, go to it. If you see two people about 100 feet in the air with a magnifying glass, it’s just me and Encyclopedia Brown gathering evidence at the scene of the crime.

 

The players shop for Dockers

Cuz there’s no keys for lockers

You took them on your 2nd honeymoon

 

Your playbook’s really empty

Full of Target liquor ads

No wonder why you hear it from Moon

 

I’ll jump the officials

You go hunt with Shawwwwwwww

 

Where is my Red and his cigar

Where is my Adolph Rupp

Where is ol’ 4 corners, Dean Smith

Where have all the coaches gone

WHERE HAVE ALL THE COACHES GONNNNNEEEEEEEEEE

Attaboy

Way to go

Hit ’em high

Hit ’em low…….

 

“…polar bear from Iceland????”

 

You Can’t Travel, Joe. Oops, My Bad, I Thought We Were Talking Basketball.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, that’s a real knee-slapper, Filion. Way to get things on the right foot with the oldest prank in the book. Not even Dennis the Menace would stoop that low.

“OWWWWWWWWWWWWW, MY EYE HAS POPPED OUT OF ITS SOCKET, MR. WILSON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“George, you big bully, you had to use a rake on him? C’mon, Dennis, let’s have some milk and cookies and I’ll see if I can find an adjustable crescent wrench to screw it back in.”

“Martha, I was just raking leaves!!!!!!!!!! Next thing you know, he and Ruff are on the ground in an epileptic seizure. That’s gotta be one of those gumballs he got out of the Milford Kiwanis gumball machine at the Milford Laundromat.”

“They just don’t want to admit they need a Band-aid. Here, I’ve got some peroxide in the Lazy Susan in the kitchen next to the Cheerios and the Arm & Hammer Baking Soda. And we’ll put Ruff to sleep after I feed you some Wheat Chex.”

“Ruff’s just constipated, Martha. I’ll get some Ex-Lax in my glove box and stick it in his Alpo.”

 

And you old timers remember the Gomer Pyle episode about Sergeant Carter’s eye? If you whippersnappers will bear with me too, an artist came on Camp Pendleton to survey who she thought might be a perfect person to represent the Marines in their advertising posters. Well. she’s making a few sketches throughout the show and it looks like she is sketching Sergeant Carter when in reality she is sketching Gomer. Sergeant Carter is performing all these manly poses from standing on Gomer in triumph during a war games drill to pointing the troops to victory as if he was at Iwo Jima. Naturally, Colonel Gray is shocked at the artist’s decision and eventually so is, naturally, Sergeant Carter. Gomer, of course, is the Man of the Hour on the posters, standing tall and proud in his dressed blues, representing everything you want in a Marine and what a grunt aspires to after boot camp and beyond. Still, as you could understand, it’s an awkward situation as Sergeant Carter is left out in the cold after he had high hopes. The artist senses that and so draws Sergeant Carter’s eye which lays in the background(“Behind every Marine is a Sergeant ready to mold him” or something to that effect which the artist uses to explain her rationale)  like the road-narrowing-to-a-point-in-the-distance perspective which lifts Sergeant Carter’s spirits considerably. In fact, at the end of the show, some passer-by sees the poster on a display on a street somewhere and sees Gomer and understandably says “Hey, that’s you!!!!!!” And as fate would have it, Sergeant Carter cuts in and says “Yes, but that’s my eye there behind him”. Of course, the passer-by has no clue what Sergeant Carter is talking about and the show ends with Sergeant Carter desperately clinging to his sliver of fame with the passer-by.

 

So as long as the football plot lost all the wheels on the car and we never knew the denouement of the season thanks to Thorpiverse evidently having trouble budgeting its time, I might as well tie up some loose ends with

“For every great Mudlark, there’s a coach who inspires him to perspire if he wants to win the brass ring” with Tiki running with the football to the end zone with the Sharks from New Thayer in hot pursuit while this toupee of Gil’s floats proudly and arrogantly in the sky, topped by a halo and surrounded by the Cherubim. Marty Moon is in the other corner being dragged down in Hell by Carrie White and the rest of the demons. Mimi and her basketball team are at the Pearly Gates cheering on Tiki to greater heights, heck, they have the time, they only play 5 basketball games.

On the bulletin board at The Bucket

“Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tiki, CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!! You’re a real winner in that poster!!!!!!!!! You kicked some major Shark ass and you pulled a Doug Flutie to help win the game Thorpiverse forgot to print in this overextended season!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What’s your secret?”

“No secret, really. Just hard work, plenty of Kellogg’s Sugar Corn Pops-”

YES, BUT THAT’S MY HAIR BEHIND HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Everybody looks befuddled.

MY HAIR!!!!!!!!!! MY HAIR!!!!!!!!!! THE BAD DON EVERLY REPRINT WITH THE GRECIAN FORMULA SMEARED ALL OVER IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Can you say FILLER SPACE? What else could this be when we avoided the Jets and Sharks rumbling in the streets when one of the Jets had a camera and shot hog-wild with it and escaped by the hair of his chinny-chin-chin(as did the other Jets) and NOW we are about to begin basketball(and that ain’t gettin’ off on the right foot given a Mudlark showing off his Air Jordan moves in his negligee) which evidently required some kind of transition and I guess Joe at the Movies a/k/a Joe at the Travel Agency footed the bill.

I guess it’s better than the alternatives

At the Milford Lounge

“Gil, that’s the 13th Bud Lite you’ve had. The plot wasn’t THAT bad.”

“Oh, yeah(burp)? We had more action in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark: Indiana Jones Excavates Principal Ek’s Class Ring’, which Joe showed in one of the  game film sessions than on the football field. Man(belch), I feel like a fifth wheel. I hope Mimi doesn’t see me this way.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. She just downed her 12th Bud Lite watching ‘Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman’ in the Family Room.”

Orrrrrrrrrrrrrr,

“We’re gonna film ’em TONIIGGGHHHHHTTTTTT

Their hood caps better fit tiiiiigggghhhhhhtttttt”

“Leonard, you get a good camera angle on the short guy’s crack; he’s not wearing Fruit of the Looms

And Andy, catch that bruiser with the tattoo when he’s smiling. That Mammy Yokum profile will drive him and the rest of the losers out of Milford, no question”

“Riiiiiggggghhhhhhtttttttttt”

“We’re gonna film ’em tonnnniiiiggghhhhttttttttt

The turd faces better take fllllliiiiggghhhhttttttt”

“Tonight, tonight, won’t be just any night…”

Ahhhhhhh, better save Tony and Maria for a rainy day

Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

“DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What a time to lose my Off! spray. I can outrun that elephant if I get to that footbridge. I never knew Milford Nature Area could be so gargantuous. Maybe Peaches’ll be there for a quickie.”

Really, any of these could have been the pinch hitter and we could sashay into Aardvark on a breakaway slam under the influence of one of his mother’s medications before you know it. Trust me on that one.

 

Shout out to Wayne and Steve Kuchenbrod of Lyndon, Kentucky. They are fraternal twins and when I saw them they were going to the public gym on a workout program. Good for them. It was COLD when I saw them and they could have stayed home and nobody would have blamed them but they chose to get out of the house. I’m proud of them for choosing to get busy living and work on improving their bodies as we all get older. I salute both of you and think you represent America. Treat ’em with respect, gang.

 

“In a moment, we’ll see if Marty can escape the pack of lions that Gil let loose in the Milford Nature Area from the Barnum & Bailey Circus.”

 

“Hi, this is Colonel Harland Sanders for Kentucky Fried Chicken. I’ll bet many of you think that because I now have the Andy Warhol profile on all my signage right down to the coffee cup and I have the voice of Boss Hogg when the record’s running at ’78 that it was all mashed potatoes and gravy. Boy, have you been eating one Liver Cheese Burger too many.

I actually started in Milford when it was the Milford Chicken Pits Company. We would shoot chickens out in the woods and even hock a few from Gil’s Grandfather’s farm next door. Shheeeeet, the dude possessed 1,275,898 of them, he wasn’t going to miss ’em any time soon. His abacus couldn’t count that high.

We would pluck the chicken one feather at a time, then use an Uzi on their head. Couldn’t be too careful. No sense in using a toy gun on them babies if ya wanted things finger lickin’ good. We just needed below the neck. Then we’d dip it into a battere that’s a secret recipe but I’ll throw a hint at ya, we had to dodge the revenoors when we drove in the woods. We opened our first restaurant right here in Milford, right down the street from The Bucket. Gil worked as a teenager, driving the unused chicken parts out by where the varmints smashed the still. Carry Nation wasn’t about to dig up nasty chicken breast bones and burn ’em nor raid Gil’s Chevy.

Over the years, we’ve grown to several restaurants, fightin’ The Bucket every step of the way over property settlements, advertising, and softball bragging rights, oh, SHIT, and the food too.

That’s why I’m here to plug our new 5 Dollar Fill-Up that’ll put any Bucket Chicken Sandwich or Bucket Burger to shame. For 5 dollars, you can load down with 150 wings, 353 thighs, 241 breasts, 15 gizzards, 2 tons of jowl bacon and 75 potato wedges and a chocolate ship cookie. And at no extra charge, the Bucket, not the Pop’s Cholit Shoppe wannabe, you dummies, comes with a side of cole slaw and mashed potatoes. We’ll even throw plastic silverware. Just be careful not to let the spork get submerged in all the thighs.

And wouldn’t you know it, our Bucket beats The Bucket’s Bucket. They only offer one ton of a Bucket o’ Jowl Bacon, 352 thighs and, hoooeyyyy, they include 100 Bucket Cheese Burgers which are manufactured from grain-fed beef, an EPA bête-noire.  To add insult to injury, their cole slaw and mashed potatoes come in thimbles. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be sewing  my Milford letter on my sweater with gravy all over me.

Come to KFC, where we do chicken right and let The Bucket burn their burgers on a cross of gold. A 5 Dollar Fill-Up Bucket is better than a Bucket o’ Anything at The Bucket, commode included.”

 

 

 

Gang, I’m STILL trying to figure out the freak hands in P2. You know those optical illusions where it’s an old lady in one perspective but a young woman in another? Yes, but that’s TWO SEPERATE ENTITIES!!!!!!!!!!! Here, the thumb and the forefinger is on the same hand. I’ve seen papier-mache artwork that my niece (great artist, BTW) concocted int he 3rd grade better than this guessing game of an appendage. I THINK that’s a thumbnail. Oh, what the hay, the thumb just got stapled on to the hand. Plus, nobody uses the thumb to emphasize a point. Try imagining Lincoln attempting the maneuver while giving the Gettysburg Address.

FDR at the mike

“Today will be a Day of Infamy”

Okay, one more last-ditch attempt,

Lou Gehrig giving his Farewell Speech

“I am the luckiest man alive.

Nahhhhhhhhhhhh, keep your thumb for safekeeping.

 

 

Oooooooooooooooookkkkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back in the studio to sabotage things and he is chompin’ at the bit to do so, thusly, take ‘er away, Gene

“Dumb dora was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought basketball started now because of ______________________”

 

If ya refuse ta turn the telly and watch the NBA or anything else for that matter even though ya have 151 channels ‘cuz youse callin’ the Cable officials about who won the tractor pull after they yanked the show fer “Heidi”, ya might be a redneck.

 

Big shout-out to Donna Bouquet(boo-KAY) of Fern Creek, Kentucky. Donna gets up EARLY to go to work at the Fern Creek Kroger and she keeps the store running with her hard work and determination. She is great to talk to and I have learned a ton from her. She is also very close to her family and they look out for each other, especially in times of need. She contributes mightily to America’s welfare and represents what America is all about. She just flat-out gets it done either at work or at home as typified by her beautiful house and well-manicured lawn. Keep on going, Donna. America needs you. You’ve earned my respect.

 

“Will Marty escape the mongoose??????? Will the mongoose grab a hold of Marty’s family jewels?????? Find out in a moment for the exciting conclusion!!!!!!!!!!”

 

“Are you planning a big Christmas Eve celebration where everybody will be exchanging presents with everybody right down to the Tonka Train Set and ugly ties but you lost your job because the new guy could figure the stats quicker and cheaper? Hi, I’m Coach Thorp on behalf of the Milford Beverage Warehouse. No, Milford Beverage Warehouse can’t refer you to that 24-hour truck stop for a job as a dishwasher nor give you any references in that regard but, boy o boy, they have a great deal for you. The $100 Fill-up Deal will get you a cover letter in record time. You will get a steel drum filled with all kinds of wines of your choice for that discriminating alcoholic in your family plus Lowenbrau and Michelob 24-packs for the slushees watching the NBA at Christmas; they may not know the score at the end of the game or even care, but with golden elixirs such as these and even a free case of Bud when you tell ’em that you heard Uncle Gil on the radio talking about the Warehouse, you won’t go wrong. And don’t forget the party snacks, that’s right, the Warehouse made sure to cram them suckers and wedge the Milford Vending Beer Nuts and Milford Vending Cashews, not to mention Charles Chips, between the 28 Pink Truck Wines and pina coladas. And what’s chips and peanuts plus Bolthouse Farms Baby Carrots and Milford Farms Celery Pieces without some dip? C’mon, admit it, you dip plenty of Charles Chips Barbecue Chips in the Milford Dairy Spinach Dip and Milford Dairy Cinnamon Cream Cheese. And how could I forget the bagels? The Warehouse put the star on the Christmas tree in short order. Silly me. Hey, sounds like you’re gonna have a party without Milford Finance sending a tow truck in your driveway to repossess your car. By the way, you can return your steel drum to The Warehouse and get a rebate good for a purchase of Drewry’s Dark. With all these incentives, why go anywhere else? C’mon what does the Milford Wal-Mart liquor department have to offer besides Sam’s Choice Malt Liquor? I’ll bet they don’t even need a crowbar to cram  Great Value Cheese Puffs into their shopping cart. Nope, the Warehouse Fill-Up Deal is non-pareil. Why, I saw Rob Walton sneak in the emergency door to check out the haps. you’re not fooling me, Bud and Sam.

Come to Milford Beverage Warehouse, your headquarters for Christmas party shopping. Yes, at The Warehouse, just because you have to tighten your belt doesn’t mean ya gotta put a leash on The Good Life. Heck, the only time you’ll say you can’t load the drum in the bed of the truck is when you’ll tell the loading crew at The Warehouse you’ll hoist it yourself. Hey, at The Warehouse, have it your way.

 

Gang, have it your way. I think affairs are already getting staid if there are no nets, backboards, basketball racks, scoreboard, popcorn machine. Hell, at least draw a free throw line so I know this isn’t a hockey rink. Yup, just some friends in their basketball uniforms that are sneaky resemblances to gym clothes gathering around to talk about the New York Rangers. Happens all the time.

 

JODYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!! JODY DAVIS!!!!!!!!!!!!! CATCHER WITHOUT A FEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Harry, I think the Senility Meter broke the mercury out of the tube. The baseball plot was two sports ago.”

Sorry, Robmize, one last Cubbie joke before next year(ha).

Tiki Can’t Really Dust for Vomit

Well this backfired

Subtlety’s not Joe’s forte

But is self-defense?

 

Bolek’s a dumbass

Use phone camera for this

It’s not Rick Soto

 

Whaddaya expect

From a guy who paints crosswalks

With tiny brushes?

 

Can film buff buddies

Jump in, make this a fair fight?

Outlook not so good

 

Now Mudlarks will need

Another new punter

Like Spinal Tap drummers

 

“Gil, They Can All Boom It From 50+ Yards, But One of the Seven Chinese Brothers Has Turf Toe.”

 

 

Seven Chinese Brothers were once asked

If they could punt

Six were sure of foot

Five kicked 50 yards

One was a runt

 

Gang, as you might surmise, this post will have an REM flavor to it. Why not? One of the more influential Rock ‘n’ Roll bands, and then some, they will weigh in today on this plot already on life support. Call it pulling the plug on this vegetable with a little help from my friends.

 

Brace yourself. Gil is starting to get intellectual on us. I should have seen it coming when the other day Kaz and Joe started sounding like the VideoHound. I understand Leonard Maltin will be giving the pregame speech the next game.

“You guys could do better in the plot but I liked the cinematography. Those poplars on top of a rosebush we see in the background at Mudlark Stadium save the film from a total disaster and the script, though I’ve seen better in Godzilla vs. The Mudlark, peters out and gives us a ray of hope should there be a sequel. Now kick New Thayer’s ass, Gentlemen.”

“LET’S DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

And sure, not all coaches are dumb jocks, having been involved as a high school booster/coach, but  Coach Kaz looking like he just read out of Fodor’s French in 10 Days is REALLY stretching it. Next thing you know, he’ll be utilizing all the French words we use in English anyway just to display to the world that there’s a Harvard side to him.

“Gil, voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”

“No, Kaz, I can’t go with you to the cafeteria for breakfast. My doctor told me to cut back on the bacon/egg soufflé and grits. No Cream of Wheat either.”

So the next time you see graffiti in stall #3 in the boys bathroom and it reads “Madame Pearl est plein de le merde”, it won’t require Miss Marple to find out who the culprit is.

 

Situation clearly sucks

doo dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo

Pistons in combustion chamber stuck

doo dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo

Gil would sport much better luck

doo dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo

In his bathtub coaching his rubber duck

doo dee doo dee doo dee doo dee doo

Ohhhhhh, wish we were on our way

la da da da DA DA

Basketball next day

la da da da DA DA

We can only plead and pray

 

Ages of Gil

Ages of Gil

Ages of Gil

Yeah

 

And JUST WHEN Gil and Kaz go Einstein on us, P2 confirms it was a false sense of security.

POP QUIZ TODAY???????

Isn’t pop ANYTHING meant to convey a sense of surprise with the intention of compelling your underlings to cough up information that you should have been studying the night before instead of going to the Milford Bijou to watch “The Return of the Brady Bunch: Mr. Brady Transfers to Milford Toyota As A Corporate Lawyer”? And speaking of the Brady Bunch, isn’t that Mr. Price, y’know, old-timers, the one Peter Brady was snowing because he was so focused on working on the school newspaper that he forgot to memorize all the capitals of Latin America and South America? He still might have passed if he’d taken more time spelling “Tegucicalpa” correctly. Spell-checker might have helped, Peter.

“Peter Brady, you still might have saved your grade but Tijuana is not the capital of Honduras.”

“My bad, Mr. Price.”

“I’ll give you half credit for remembering that Bolivia has two capitals, La Paz and Sucre if you’ll try to remember that America did not sign over the Panama Canal to Aramco.”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Price. Your wife looked good in that bikini at Mudlark Lake Resort last weekend. She’s fit and trim at 87 years old.”

 

Shout-out to Kathlynn Turner of Jeffersontown, Kentucky. I LOVED your sharing how your family members, Bill Davis and Levi Beauchamp, were truck drivers for several years and worked countless and thankless hours at their jobs so we could get the goods we wanted ASAP. They certainly kept the flow going for the finer things in life. Gang, they kept America moving. They are the unsung heroes that keep our economy STRONG. Without them, we wait DAYS for our favorite items to come, as in the past, Colonial or Cowboy period, take your pick. I salute you, Levi and Bill. You too, Kathlynn.

 

Gang, whaddup wit this quid pro quo stuff?

“Okay, Joe, then it’s settled. You can have my entire DVD collection of ‘Planet of the Apes’ including ‘The Battle of Armageddon Decimates Milford on the Planet of the Apes’ if you’ll kick for us.”

“Throw in Coach Thorp’s ‘Them!!!!!’, ‘Tarantula’, and ‘The Blob Swallows Milford’, and I’ll call it deal.”

” ‘fraid not. Coach says that was his collector’s items when he first started the strip and they’ve been in the heirloom for ages. His grandma watched them on her old Victrola.”

“How ’bout REM’s “The Footballs of Guatemala” to sweeten the pot?””

 

Milford & Oakwood train whistle introducing next song, accompanied by strtident guitar lick on Marty’s ukulele, just imagine the possibilities, Marty and Peter Buck in a guitar duel

 

Windout

Can you kick a ball

Windout

Does Kaz care at all

Windout

Should we return Gil’s call

Windout

Will you play this Fall

 

Punt Punt Punt Punt

Punt Punt Punt Punt

Punt Punt Punt Punt

Punt Punt Punt Punt

(Great guitar licks, Peter Buck, way to apply the pressure with your strings)

 

Oh, Mister Bolek

 

Should we doubt

That you’re done with film

Windout

That you’ll take the helm

Windout

The team won’t go to Hell

Windout

The strip stays put as well

 

Windout

Windout

Windout

WINDOUT

Punt Punt Punt Punt

 

I was tempted to call this plot “Dead Letter Office”. Nah, no sense in disgracing the group with a plot in a coma. Anyway

I’M GETTING TIRED OF THIS PLOT IN A CIRCUS TENT…Uncle Gil

Okay, Gil looks nowhere near like Uncle Ben, I can’t even imagine him on the rice box, it’s literally black and white,  but I’m taking poetic license here.

 

If ya think Fodor’s French in 10 Days is shoveling cow manure with mustard on the Streets of Milford within the same period of time and ya follow through by gettin’ shovel, pick-ax, trowel, cement mixer, and backhoe at Milford Rent-All, ya might be a redneck.

 

 

“No, Coach, I didn’t see the movie. I was getting back in shape. How’d it wind out?”

“You should have seen it!!!! A deaf, dumb, and blind kid kicks the pigskin straight through the wickets and the team wins the State. Then he dies of suffocation in the dog pile.”

 

WHO SHOT COACH SHAW?

At the Milford Police Station

“Ugly rumor that it was Joe Bolek”

“Negative. He was seen by several eyewitnesses sneaking into Milford Adult Theater on Classic Porn Night to watch ‘Deep Throat’.”

 

Seven Chinese Brothers donning their helmets and shoulder pads

Waiting for their time to play, this is awfully, truly sad

3rd and 18 on the Mudlark 25, doubt they’ll get their chance

Stay warm in the meantime, executing the cha-cha dance

 

Seven Chinese Brothers wallowing on the sideline

Gil and Kaz lacking clear direction or ANY guideline

Please get a clue

Please get a clue

 

And as long as I’m going to beat this one in the ground, Coach Kaz trying to imitate Gerard Depardieu(“Man, Kaz, you’ve got talent. I also liked your Donald Duck, James Brown, Homer Simpson, Slim Pickens, and Bozo imitations. You ought to audition at Milford Girls-a-Go-Go Club on Talent Night”), c’est la vie(French for “Gil prefers Charmin instead of Brawny when he’s situated in the Port-o-Let”) reminds me of my favorite group, Emerson, Lake, & Palmer who did a song with that title, off the album “Works”, a slightly ambitious production that got better with age, released back in 1977. But this is taking a turn for the worse.

“I’ll trade you my ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’, ‘Tarkus’, and ‘Emerson, Lake, & Palmer: Live at the Milford VFW Lodge’, and my collection of Greg Maddux cards if you’ll kick for the team and give me ‘Remember The Titans.’ I wanna see if Denzel Washington can teach me anything new.”

“Throw in that video of Keith Emerson spinning ’round and ’round on his organ while playing ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’ and a bunch of drunk navy veterans throwing Sterling cans at him in the VFW Lodge ball room, and I’m good.”

“Deal.”

 

Oooooooooooookkkkkkkkk, gang, to commemorate the TV clips you see get lopped off at the Milford Shell after you’re finished pumping your gas

 

“And Milford is gonna kick it. This is for the win. DeWindt, the holder, the Seven Chinese Brothers will be kicking against the wind, here’s the snap, THE KICK——-”

THANK YOU!!!!!!! CLERK HAS RECEIPT

 

“Peter, why are you late?”

“Sorry, Mr. Price, I went to the Milford Men’s Clinic for Teenagers and I OD’d a little on the stuff. I had a little bit of a hard time putting on my Levi’s. I was thinking about your wife and how much fun I was having mentally undressing her and that just added fuel to the fire. Her boobs really looked nice while jumping off the diving board.”

“Well, I must admit, your snow jobs are creative.”

“Thank you. She’s probably somebody’s baby tonight. And it was a toss-up between her and Bo Derek.

 

Gang, it’s your turn. I’m going to the travel agency and get “Fodor’s Milford on $10 a Day”

 

Seven Chinese Brothers shooting dice until it’s time

Finding out in vain that Gil’s acumen weighs but a dime

They almost went in, 3rd and 10 to kick the winning goal

Play was called back, refs blew foul, receiver flagged for a hold

 

Seven Chinese Brothers wallowing on the bench

Seven Chinese Brothers had enough of this stench

Please let ’em play

Please let ’em play