This Week in Milford

April 26, 2018

Les Expos(ition) sont là

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Hope y’all like exposition ’cause today’s strip is nothing but.

I guess the Padillas are going to stick around in Milford for the rest of the school year. It may be interesting to see what magical baseball skills Jorge’s endowed with*, and whether Marty Moon will make on-air comparison between him and one of baseball’s Puerto Rican greats.

Paul Beaudry finally gets a face, and it’s Amy Lange’s. Speaking of faces, we haven’t seen Barry Bader’s since the end of the spring/summer 2016 arc. We only saw him in profile and at a distance last season. Wonder if he’ll stay on model?

Help me out with the English grammar in P3, please: Is Carrie describing the Del Bader/Boo Radley/unidentified pickup truck driver who dropped a CD incident correctly? Or does that read like Father Bader killed a girl who was driving drunk?

*Remember, he’s already had a cup of coffee with the Nats. On that topic, the inspiration for the post title:

 

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April 25, 2018

Doing It Wrong, Unfortunately

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P1: No offense to his real world namesake intended, but I did not realize that we were really signing up for another tour with the Secret. Originally, I didn’t mind him too much but now it seems he’s gunning to be another Milford High huckster with this launch angle foolishness. How a calculator would figure into his scheme is beyond me.

P2: Nothing like sitting around talking about what people said for excitement and adventure. Are the two young women in back having to share a milk shake?

P3: Is there some sort of corollary to the Bechdel test where the female characters just sit there and watch the male characters talk? I know we keep hammering on that point but, c’mon, Whigrub didn’t even give them their own drinks nevermind dialogue. Regardless, I like that Freckles here answers the question of what is Barry’s story by telling Spike McWidow’s Peak* about his story and not, oh say, the story iteself. Oh well, tune in tomorrow when we revisit one of the more distasteful story arcs in some time.

* Wait, I just realized that’s supposed to be Jorge…

January 27, 2018

6 panels later we’re still playin

Filed under: actual action, basketball, Mimi Thorp, The Bucket — robmize2013 @ 4:26 pm

Sorry bout my lack of stripping yesterday, had an event in the evening and just decided if it doesnt get done today I’ll do 2 tomorrow. And presto! We’re still playing this game. Hope it didnt kill anyone to have a TWIM holiday.

Apparently Paloma thinks shes being picked on, or singled out, just because shes from another country. How the hell does the ref know all this? All he knows is hes on loan from Foot Locker and is losing fingers as fast as Paloma is making him use them.

Her teammate has to give her advice on the court, as her sit down with Mimi didnt produce the desired cooling down effect that coaches will use for a hot (emotionally) player. You know, you get what you deserve in life – – throw an unknown player in there at the last minute just because shes taller then everyone else, but obviously doesnt have either the brains to match her brawn, or has such an attitude about her lot in life that its manifesting itself on the basketball court. Again, its only her first game right? The way this strip drags stuff out, every little issue seems like an iceberg to the Titanic. Give her a few games and see how shes doing; of course by then it’ll be June, but thats life in this part of the world.

Assuming Gils man Primo is a-ok, I guess the girls team gets the lions share of the coverage this season. Fine by me.

 

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?

 

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?

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