This Week in Milford

January 18, 2018

“They Actually Asked Me if I Wanted a Hot Apple Pie With My Order.”

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Dad, if you’re reading this, thanks for egging me on. I was scared clueless but you always navigate the storms with the best of them. Love you, Big Guy.

Not that my mom (happy birthday, yesterday, Mom) and my sister didn’t figure into things. They certainly gave me incentive to pull this one off. Love you too.

This is the Dean Koontz novel that was never published, stored under his high school yearbooks in the attic. You know, Ernest P. Worrell’s thought process arose from the grave of anonymous cemetery somewhere in Nashville, leaving the body of the aforementioned to rot eternally in the ground (“Ernest P. Worrell burns in Hell along with Carrie White”) and assumed the body of Frito Bandito through the means of telekinesis. His sister, spending more time absorbing culture shock at The Bucket than developing her postup skills (they do have gymnasiums available in case you change your mind), was worried sick about him since one day, while taking her home from school, he said to her “Yo quiero Taco Bell. Tengo mucho hambre. Ya wanna go in the dining area or the drive-thru, Vern? Do ya think my F-150 with them mud-caked monster wheels will clear the bar?”

In P1, Ward Cleaver is having one of those heart-to-heart talks every father has with his son. Here was the gist of the warm words doled out “Beaver, I already have Eddie Haskell at the point and Lumpy Rutherford will play the 2 guard while Lurch will anchor things down low. But don’t worry, if Eddie or Lumpy are caught not hustling, you’re comin’ off the bench.”

And you’re not fooling me, Thorpiverse. Gil and Jorge missed the ferry across the river Styx to Hades, Charon running behind, although said mythological figure managed to transport Ernest P. and Carrie in a reasonable amount of time. So Gil and Jorge are returning from the Shadow of Death. Perhaps another time.

In P3, it gets about as ridiculous as you can imagine. Many countries, Third World countries included, have been bitten by the Americana bug and are liberally sprinkled with McDonald’s, KFC, Pizza Hut, Wal-Mart, etc. Maybe 30-40 years ago, America was kept at a distance but now I have yet to read an article in the paper discussing some Third World dictator executing political prisoners on the charges of devouring one Big Mac too many. And what makes it worse, Puerto Rico is a Commonwealth of the U. S. Not that I approve of what’s going on (I don’t) but Puerto Rico has also arguably been one of the forerunners of soaking in American culture.

Oooook, so that said, if ya git Church’s Fried Chicken 3-Piece (2 breasts, 1 wing) Extra-Greasy Combo with mashed potatas ‘n’ okra, both stuffed in them microscopic styrofoam cups and ya have a bunch of ’em stored in 5 feet x 5 feet crates shipped from the ports of San Juan straight to a space in yore garage next to the power riding mower, ya might be a redneck.

Today’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“UFO Spotted in the Milford Gymnasium!!!!!!”

“Officials Later Confirmed That Someone Was Practicing His 3-Point Shooting.”

Yesterday’s headline from the Milford Enquirer:

“Gil Claims to Have Seen Elvis!!!!!!!!!!”

“I Told Him I Needed A Note From His Parents and His Physical Had to Be Turned in by Friday.”

Gang, you’ve been super all week. The comments were electric and I wish I could address ’em all because they were FUNNY and/or THOUGHT-PROVOKING. It’s your turn, Ladies & Gentlemen. What’s on your mind?

 

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October 12, 2017

The Best Singer (Or So We’re Told)

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So this is the song Rick Soto purportedly just sang*. I’m sure today’s strip just gave it dozens more hits on YouTube.

In true Rubin fashion we never get to read the lyrics coming from Rick’s mouth. Another tease, just like the tease that we may finally know the lyrics to Milford High’s fight song (and there were some good stabs at it in yesterday’s comments). Just another reminder of the weird pacing of this strip, in which the Mudlarks have played one game while high schools in the real world have mostly played at least six or seven.

In true Whigham fashion we get a Milford girl festooned with chunky bracelets and big earrings in the way no teenage girl accessorizes today. We also get Rick’s unnaturally flat palms facing the speaker in best back off ease up fashion, another Whigham hallmark. Finally, from the Pantheon of Hair Department it’s sideburns: Rick’s oddly shaggy ones and Pelwecki’s greasy strands that threaten to clump together as sideburns.

Wait – did someone mention the dozens? Maybe it’s time for a game.

“Pelwecki’s hair is so greasy, he could fry chicken in it.”

“Uncle Gary’s such a crap lawyer he’s trying to hitch a ride on his nephew’s back as an agent.”

*Were you as disappointed as I was that it wasn’t a George Harrison cover? If so, this should help you get over it.

October 11, 2017

For Those Of You Curious About The Milford Fight Song…

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I’m afraid I have bad news.

Panel 1: Gary’s pop star aspirations for Ricky might take a hit if that is Milford Pattern Balding syndrome that we’re seeing here. Also, too, spoon? WTH?

Panel 2: Idiots or Weirdos? Idiots it is.

Panel 3: I wouldn’t even know who Ed Sheeran is if not for online discussion of his recent appearance in a certain popular fantasy TV show. That aside, I have absolutely no clue who these two young Lady Mudlarks are, but their appearance today does lend support to my theory that Alison Bechdel really ticked Rubin off at some point.

October 10, 2017

Rock The Fight Song

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We certainly didn’t cover much ground in today’s strip which causes me to ask why, if he is sincerely adamant in his refusal to sing, Rick (or as he is endearingly and dehumanizingly referred to as ‘No. 71’) is already standing under the hamburger sign?

Obligatory video:

October 7, 2017

Rick, You’re No Ingrid Bergman

Filed under: football, freak hands, Gil Thorp, Lens Flare, Milford Weirdos, The Bucket — teenchy @ 1:03 pm

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For that matter, neither is your mom, and Uncle Gary sure as hell is no Charles Boyer. Yet that’s how Rubin has chosen to address the serious up-to-the-minute issue of concussions in football: by lifting the plot of the famous 1944 thriller that lent its name to the behavior Boyer displayed. Gaslighting has been charged many times this year in reference to the current US political climate, and that’s all I have to say about that. It’ll be on Turner Classic Movies next Sunday morning, so you insomniacs can check it then and see if we’re still tracking the plot. I guess this will make Gil Joseph Cotten, but if that makes Kaz Angela Lansbury I’m all for it.

Kudos to Connie Soto for driving a four-door sedan, especially since driving a Jeep Compass or pickup at night in Milford has had some unpleasant consequences. I think she has more to worry about than Rick’s cloudy eyes, like her severed left hand that still grips the steering wheel.  Hmm, bad paper cut?

July 13, 2017

There’s No Veering in Baseball!

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Well that whole journalism thing was awkward, wasn’t it?  Made me feel stupid for thinking there might be some point to it.  Let’s get back to what this strip does best: putting Milford’s girls in the orbit of Milford’s boys. After all, boys won’t watch girls play unless they’re interested in one of the players but girls will watch the boys play just because, amirite?

So to wrap the spring* plot up we’re gonna see if Ryan has indeed practiced his anger management after he gets another bad call from a crappy Valley ump and his teammates flub away a lead on him.  Marty’s mom has told him to take out the trash, so he quickly makes the Mudlarks a Fielding Three and rolls a 14 for the Tilden batter.  As with most Gil Thorp arcs, all of this would come off as a lot less contrived if the plot had been better paced. Then again, the phrase “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” is probably wasted on someone who holds track and field in such contempt.

*Feels funny calling it that in the middle of July, doesn’t it?

May 18, 2017

All Milkshakes, All The Time

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Boy, I’m glad I read the “About” section at GoComics this morning.  I was getting ready to lay into Whigrub for burying the sports-related aspects of this strip beneath ever increasing layers of vague, tell-don’t-show bullshit ” topical, teen-oriented issues.”

The spring arc is playing out to be about anger management and ethics in journalism.  Girls’ sports are getting worse than no attention; thus far they’re being portrayed solely as a means to meet boys and get free food.  (This time, fries with the milkshakes; maybe burgers too after the next game?) We clearly know what Dafne Dafuq loves more; if the Lady Mudlarks softball team had a more observant coach, Dafne would get the hint and drop the game. But the softball diamond is Thorp country, where laissez-faire coaching rules the day and nothing should be done to upset the shakes and fries gravy train.

May 11, 2017

Shakes, the Clown

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So Jimmy Caruso has eyes on Dafne Dafonte and Carrie Hobson has eyes on Rex Hudler Hurdler Gary Meola, who doesn’t have eyes on her but is gonna pretend to have eyes on her to help Caruso out in true wingman fashion, or something like that.  If we didn’t have all that exposition leading up to today, we might be led to believe that Dafne and Carrie only have eyes for each other.  Dafne has already made her disdain for track and field well known, so why is she going along with this ruse?  To play wingwoman for Carrie, of course, and to mooch a free post-game milkshake off Caruso at The Bucket.

Ah, post-game milkshakes at The Bucket: not just for no-hitter batteries anymore! Then again, were they ever? Considering the last time that happened one of the batterymates got killed, I doubt that’s a tradition that will be revived in Milford anytime soon.  Gotta find the silver linings in the cloud that hovers over Milford softball in the post-Boo Radley era where you can, and if they come in the form of budding romance I guess that’ll have to do.

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