Because Coach Thorp Won’t Take American Express.

Must we CONTINUE this comedy of errors, now that December is well under way? Is the check going to bounce and we take the whole month before we have sufficient funds in the savings account at Milford State Bank? I know The Joker paid a visit but I thought MSB was a member of FSLIC. Does it have to get approved by the Milford School Board before the financial pipeline reopens?

You better hope that Chet Baker’s card isn’t declined. It might be around The Super Bowl when Chet is able to pay the minimum again. Apparently all those charges he ran up on the photocopier caused the card to go over the limit. He doesn’t pump THAT much gas into his vehicle at the Milford BP.

At the Milford Walgreen’s

“Okay, sympathy card, friendship card, bag of Cheetos, personalized gym bag, Nike sneakers off the clearance table, Dickies work socks-12 pair, your friend’s prescription of atorvastatin from the pharmacy, windbreaker jacket, and Ecco Domani Pinot Grigio in the 1.5 liter bottle. Do you have your ID with you?”

“He’s underaged. I’m his step-dad. Here’s my driver’s license.”

Showing a picture of Chet Baker at 18 when he was beardless. Clerk is stupified momentarily by the transformation from Skeezix to Alley Oop. Clerk recovers nicely.

“That’ll do ‘er. It’s going to be $134.76. Go ahead and slide your card. BTW, is this all for your friend?”

“Everything but the wine, sir.”

“I know what you mean. If I played football for a guy who spends more time at Mr. Wilson’s house than on the footba-Oh, it says your card was declined.”

“Damn, I made an online payment yesterday. After I sent back Chance’s Gibault School records.”

 

After watching College Football scenes involving unsportsmanlike conduct penalties, many were deserved but getting flagged for embracing your school mascot was a bit much, in my view

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O. J. Suspended From Milford Parks & Recreation Adult Flag Football League For One Week!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Just because I hugged my grandma after scoring the winning TD? Cheap call, Man.”

 

Just when we thought we were devoid of Pantheon of Mysterious Objects and the readers who are mystified by them, Thorpiverse would have to inject itself with another dosage of M.C. Escher.

We THINK Charlie’s combo dresser drawer-file cabinet-triplicate safe deposit box (where I would have hidden Chance’s records after jumping from the second story of Milford School Corporation Annex, contraband in tow) is facing towards Chet and Charlie. That would be only logical.

“I’ve told you 3 times the cabinet isn’t parallel with that wall!!!!!!!!!  The window is perpendicular to it!!!!!!!!!!! This isn’t Office Depot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You’re grounded for a week!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And stop calling me ‘Chet’!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And Charlie, if you’re not smart enough to figure out that your step-dad didn’t think you could handle the competition because your STEP-DAD EVIDENTLY COULDN’T HANDLE THE COMPETITION, you need to get off the computer for a season (oops, bad noun, that might take forever, knowwhutImean?) and smell the Folger’s. Geez, no wonder why your Chippendale belongs in the Crazy House of Mirrors at the Milford State Fair.

 

If yore pissed off cuz Milford Guns ‘n’ Ammo won’t accept Amer-ee-cun X-press and yore Milford Guns ‘n’ Ammo Visa Debit card maxxed out and they won’t take yore SNAP card as col-lat-ur-al ta obtain the necessary shells ta shoot a squirrel that’s been hibernatin’ in yore oak tree in the front yard, ya might be a redneck.

 

P2-Boy, are YOU leaving yourself wide open with that question, Chet.

If I were Charlie

“For starters, if you’re going to grow a beard, stop dipping it in the Cool Whip. We had to go the Milford 7-11 on Thanksgiving on an emergency for the 3 pumpkin pies. It’s embarrassing when I have to explain to all my friends why you have an Oreo face.

“He gets that way when there’s no Arm & Hammer in the Lazy Susan.”

After 2 hours of intense negotiations

“And when we play pitch and catch, no more going to Coach Thorp’s garage to borrow the Nerf football.”

“But Gil never use it because he’s too busy being absent because he’s on permanent vacation at the Milford Country Club Golf Course.”

I think there’s some things you can agree to disagree on, Charlie. Union can’t have everything when negotiating with management. Give and take.

“And Chet? Would you like a Certs Peppermint? I have plenty in my paralleogram file cabinet.”

 

Because I was intrigued by a house at the T of the T intersection that was protected by a guard rail, 3 red warning signs, a yellow warning sign with arrows pointing in both directions JUST NOT STRAIGHT TOWARDS THE HOUSE, and some barbed wire as a throw-in

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Coach Thorp Barricades House After Near-Miss From A Milford National Guard Training Exercise!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Those saw horses out of Industrial Arts class ought to make those tanks think twice when they approach Jaime and Keri!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

And what would a teenager do with a credit card for a few days?

After Milford FINALLY ends football

CHANCE, WE’RE GOING TO DISNEYWORLD

 

Ooooooookkkkkkkkk, Gene Rayburn is back to restore sanity and hopefully expedite the end of the football process. My money’s on Gene to do so, Gang. Take ‘er away, Gene.

“Dumb Dora was sooooooooooo dumb (HOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DUMB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) , she thought she could use Chet’s Visa card to buy _________________________”

 

So THAT’S what happened to Gil’s Nerf Joe Montana Pigskin Special. An anonymous Mudlark and Stick-Figure Face the Zebra are playing pitch and catch of their own. You get that way when you’re mopping up the competition judging by the caption in P3.

I almost thought it was Valley Tech judging by the language that Jabba the Hutt speaks on the player’s shirt but don’t believe Jabba uses the letter “M”. Jabba the Hutt EATS Mudlarks, doesn’t cheer for them.

What is scary is that after we’ve played Musical Chairs reading Chet’s death knell, P3 may be the extent of the football action in this last game. Anytime I see a referee with a hokey-pokey face (“You put your whole chin in, you pull your whole chin out…”) , I’m not bettin’  the ranch, Gang. Especially when Gil dug a trench all the way around his house. When a tricycle couldn’t cross GDMZ (Gil’s Demilitarized Zone) , it’s time to hang up the cleats on this one after you’ve dug all the mud outta the spikes. Subpar, indeed.

“That ends the 3rd quarter. Nobody knows the score but the script says Milford’s ahead. And we’ll continue this travesty after these messages. This is Marty Moon and you’re listening to WDIG, a Division of Learfield Sports.”

“Boy, all this whirlwind of non-activity is working me up an appetite. And making me thirsty.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Milford Beverage Warehouse and don’t you know I have a solution for you.

Right now, the Warehouse is stocking Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage in the refrigerated section. You can’t miss ’em, they’re next to the daiquiri section in Aisle 2. And instead of egg nog, why not sample some Gil Thorp Mild and Meek with your favorite 24-pack like Michelob Ultra, a bargain at 25.99 and for only 2 bucks more, you got that and my sausage guaranteed. Don’t know boutchoo but Michelob Ultra and fruit cake don’t cut it at my Christmas party.

And Woodbridge Chardonnay and Tennessee Pride Hot ‘n’ Spicy when you and your wife are doing candlelight when the kids are at a slumber party. What a way to ruin a romantic evening. I’m not a fan of sausage flambe. Save your candles for some real eatin’.

That’s why my sausage contains no carbotetrafluorophenols. I light a fire under my players’ butts without having to consult the manual at Dow Chemical. And I don’t light my Double Whopper Sausage and Cheese with them. For $8.77, you got the Chardonnay and Cheese Sausage in Paradise.

And I add a chaser of Maker’s Mark Whiskey to my Gil Thorp Fried Italian Sausage and Lunch-on-the-Go is never the same. And to sweeten the pot, for every flask of Maker’s Mark you purchase at $23.99, the Warehouse will throw in a package of Gil Thorp Pure Fried Italian Sausage in the bag. Ya gotta request plastic to validate the deal.

And Mimi knows I dig Captain Morgan’s Rum whenever she’s grillin’ my Sausage Mignon medium-rare. On a Dixie paper plate, drinkin’ and feastin’ couldn’t be finer, especially when I remember that the bottle runs at $19.99. Kowabunga.

Come in and have it your way and tell ’em Coach Thorp sent ya.

Comment away. I’m going to use Chet’s Visa card and hit McD’s. Anybody want anything?

ONE-HORNED

ONE-EYED

FLYIN’

PURPLE PEOPLE EATER

Oh, that’s the referee. Never mind.

“The bad thing is, no one under 40 cares about this strip.”

Reading today’s strip is a lot like buying house brand groceries. The ingredients are the same, the packaging is close enough to fool the casual observer, but when you open the box, pour out the contents then take a bite, something just doesn’t look or taste quite right. Take those teeny tiny backpacks the Milford students are wearing. At son of teenchy’s high school the classes are so far apart, and the time between them so short, that the kids wear expedition size backpacks and lug all of the day’s books and supplies around with them.

Take also Chance and Charlie’s convo. They’re spot on about school board doings – that’s their parents’ deal, not theirs – but their take on the Valley Tech game is more than a bit off. The Mudlarks aren’t gonna make the playdowns, so the only person who’ll be talking about the game will be Marty Moon. Win, and he’ll rag on Gil for underachieving all season; lose, and he’ll rag on Gil for the same old same old. The whole Ballard scandal is what will keep Milford talking long after the pads are put in storage and the last can of Nitrotan is sprayed in someone’s jock.

Finally, take Chet’s sorry-not-sorry apology. I get why Ballard is apologizing to Charlie (that is Charlie, isn’t it? Whigham can’t seem to keep him on model), but shouldn’t he be apologizing to Chance first? Maybe Charlie will tell him that in tomorrow’s strip.  Maybe  he’ll dangle the possibility that he’ll call Chet “Dad” after that, and offer that loser an unwarranted ray of hope. Maybe before it’s all said and done we’ll find out what happened to Chance’s parents. Then again I’m also hoping that any college football team nicknamed “Tigers” or that has a nut for a mascot loses this coming Saturday, but I don’t have my hopes up for that either.

I heard Marjie Rapping, Rapping At My Door.

Uh oh.

Whenever Marty casts that evil eye and leaves the Milford Recreational Sports 60th Annual Darts Tournament, you know something’s cooking between those ears of his. You just don’t execute a couple of bulls-eyes while you observe your overmatched opponent possess the aim of a welder when he has his gloves still on while still trying to solder the Anchor Pub sign back into place. The results are all over the dart board, literally, in back of Marty while he soaks in the Bud and the gossip. Sorta like walking and chewing gum at this point, when you think about it.

“Okay, Marty, you’re up.”

“I’ll skip this round. I have a great chance of winning the Masters 60 & Over Tournament later on anyway. Whose my opponent? Roy Gillen? In the bag. Anyway, Chet, so you say he mooned his kindergarten teacher and got due-processed? Before or after the teachers threw an Oreo in his chest at naptime?”

 

Once upon a plotline dreary, our interest weak and weary

I heard a tapping, tapping at my door

Coach Luhm came in to buffer like no tomorrow

We had no aegis with which to borrow

The buffer and the soap (opera) both caused great sorrow

But you could store one back in the closet

The other remained with us

Evermore

 

If ya gotta pursue the rent-a-trap route from Milford U-Haul after the crow done disturbed yore beauty sleep where yuz fantasizin’ about bein’ arm-and-arm with the 400-pound beauty queen in yore department on third shift at work and it takes forever ta set up the trap cuz the UPS driver forgot ta send the instruction manual, ya might be a redneck.

 

Unfortunately, our TWIMers may prove correct, i.e., Marty may rat out Chet rather than use the artillery Chet provides. I liked Teenchy’s omerta comparision because Marty may not only not recycle Chet’s lowdown on Chance’s truancy from Song Flute class but may use info like that to stultify Chet.

“So what if Chance couldn’t toot “On the Banks of the Wabash?. Hell, I had trouble accompanying the soloist on “MacArthur Park.” Did you ever try to keep up with Richard Harris on a song flute?”

 

Heard blasting on Gil’s speakers out of his Chevy Nova one day while he applies Turtle Wax Lime to the hood, the vocorder proudly proclaiming the message from Parsons’ “Tales of Mystery and Imagination”

While I was vacuuming

And emptying ash trays

I heard a knocking at my door

 

It wasn’t a Witness

No Girl Scout selling

Her fudgies evermore

 

In my amazement

She stood there intending

My assistance to implore

 

A School Board member

Must be dismembered

So we won’t hear

Forevermore

 

Thus quoth Gilberto

Nevermore

Thus quoth Gilberto

Nevermore

 

Nevermore Nevermore Nevermore

Never

Nevermore Nevermore Nevermore

Never

Nevermore Nevermore Nevermore

Never

 

NEVERMORE

 

Thank you to the Milford Chorale Society for the accompaniment to Ian Bairnson, Stuart Tosh, London Symphony Orchestra, etc.

Oh, and kudos to Milford Pawn ‘n’ Carry for the vocorder

 

I mean, Chet better watch his backside here. Which, if everything goes according to script, is really the idea. Chet’s about to get hoisted by his own petard because any time you unload confidential information to Loony Moony, well, you Hooligans know what the OTHER Loony Moony did with those cars. Wound up in Davy Jones Locker at some podunk Holiday Inn, last I recall. Chet, YOU might find yourself in the bottom of the swimming pool at the Oakwood Holiday Inn alomg with Chance’s parole records for the month of February if you continue this conversation at The Pub That Serves Anchors and Onion Rings and Darts That Are Really Dr. Pearl’s Knitting Needles.

Oh, pay no mind to Marty’s leer. He gets that way when he’s welcoming new members of the Wide Path of Destruction. Those Boys Town records of Chance you got FedExed from Father Flanagan ought to be secure at the safe deposit box at the Post Office while you’re attending Marty’s Day of Reckoning.

 

Because I’m really unsure why there’s a tanning clinic under the same roof as a laundromat like I saw recently

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Coach Thorp Sent To Minor Emergency Clinic After Overexposure To UV Rays From Heat Lamp At Milford 24-Hour Coin Laundry!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“The damn rinse cycle took FOREVER to complete. I had to insert an extra quarter or two just to kick-start it.”

 

And the silken and uncertain rustling of this plot

Killed me-filled me with needless terrors and ennui I have felt in baseball and golf before

So that now, to the stagnation of everyone concerned, I stood repeating

‘Tis some muckraker entreating entrance at my chamber door

Some Grantland Rice-wannabe entreating entrance at my chamber door

That it is and nothing more

 

We will return to this Masterpiece Theater Father Brown Mystery in a moment but first let me explore the meaning of the phrase “to chat up”.

Now I can understand Chet and Marty CHATTING at the Anchor Pub in the family room because ya gotta leave your attitude and your gossip at the entrance leading into the bar. No discussion of Chance’s molestation of Milford Head Start children accusations when he was in charge of leading recess (“Okay, kiddies, grab your private parts and go ‘I think I can, I think I can…”) or when he sent Grandma Macy to Milford General Hospital because she served the wrong Hamburger Helper (“I wanted PORK and pasta!!!!!!!!!!”) .

And I can understand General Lee and General Grant CHATTING at Appomattox when discussing terms of surrender (“Sure, everybody can keep their pistols. Just gotta drop your Winchesters in the bin. So how’s your boy doing? Did you have to hold him back another year?”) .

And I can understand Batman and Robin CHATTING before they break into that deserted warehouse that hasn’t been used since the old ladies moved to Lowell, Massachusetts to comtinue their 18-hour shift of looming and weaving to arrest The Joker (“You’re flunking Phys Ed, Robin?”) .

BUT HOW THE HELL DO YOU CHAT UP?

A better question is

WHO CHATS UP???????????????

 

When Franklin Delano Roosevelt sponsored his Fireside Chats, he never, ever CHATTED UP the Tennessee Valley Authority project. Didn’t CHAT UP the WPA. Hitler was never CHATTED UP like it was North Carolina CHATTING UP Duke or vice versa (FUCK HOLLAND) . I mean, if I want to CHAT UP my Muriel cigar, I’ll go get my Zippo, thank you very much.

Anybody want the rest of these Bucket Buffalo Wings, BTW? Otherwise, I’m going to CHAT THEM UP.

Marjie is CHATTING UP the door in P2. And looks like she got an answer. Those Avon techniques work every time.

 

Open here I flung through Marjie’s peruke, when,

After many a spit and sputter

In stepped Margaret Nutchall’s mom after

Giving Dennis the Menace a/ka Chet

A tongue-lashing

But, with mien or otherwise uninvited, perched at my chamber door

Settled on a bust of Gil when he just used Tegrin Medicated Shampoo on his hair

She settled and the plot did nothing more

 

“…still paying extra for your lodging accommodations? Well, at Milford Motel Econo-Stay, you get a nice quiet room for $27 less than Milford Courtyard by Marriott. When Mimi’s aunt stayed a couple of days while traveling the country, why did she need to pay an extra 27 simoleons for a Gideon’s Bible? She brought her own, there was none in the drawer…”

 

P3-“We had made passionate love at the Milford Motel Econo-Stay…”

Well, what else could it be at this point as people have been doing more investigating than Smiley’s People? I have always liked reading John Le Carre, his deliberate style to FINALLY nail a Doctor No or some Soviet flunky who has engineered a plan to take over West Berlin by slipping past Checkpoint Charlie with the conspiracy hidden in Gil’s hair but do we really honestly have to read about this in Mudlarkland? Before it’s all said and done, Chance will be executed by a firing squad for treason right before kickoff to Valley Tech.

And who’s Ms. Forsman? Is she related to The Joker, given her choice of slacks which runs in synchronization with that villain’s wardrobe? Is THIS the reason why we gotta keep it real in P3 because Chance was seen in the Jokermobile aiding and abetting in the cause when The Joker and his gang set out to rob The Bucket? Well, The Joker doesn’t wear chunky earrings. And Chance may still have to answer for his possible Boys Town record but we don’t think Father Flanagan taught him to be a Commie rat. There’s hope.

Now we have it reduced to “Editor, Reporter, Sailor, Spy” Ducey and her tea time and scones with Mrs. Joker. I can’t wait for this Le Carre novel to be released next month. Oughta be exciting. Definitely more than this plot anyway.

 

Because I’m intrgued when kids sing around the campfire while dad has finally conquered his ED problems as I saw in an ad

 

“…take one down, pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall-”

“Honnnneeeyyyyyyy, I’m glad you brought the kids along for our Milford Marraige Enrichment Seminar but we slid the credit card for the that cabin here at Mudlark Lake for a reasonnnnnnnnn. And I’m hornnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.”

“Just when we’re getting to the best part? Heck, Mrs. Shaw, I still haven’t opened that other bag of Milford Kwik-ee Mart Munchy Marshmallows? Okay, kiddies, who needs a stick? I can always rip a branch off that sugar maple over yonder.”

“Darling, that’s what the baby-sitter is for. Now put that Beanie-Weenie down and let’s do our own roasting in that nice comfy feather bed, the one that comes with a Gideon’s Bible.”

“Okay, who knows the words to Camptown Races?

Camptown Races sing this song

Doo Dah

Doo Dah

Find Chance’s bio and don’t be long

Oh Doo Dah Day-”

“This Camptown Race is taking way too long. You can always air guitar at the Enrichment Seminar Jamboree.”

“Just when I was doing my best Joe Walsh? Okay, boys and girls, repeat after me

I HAVE ACCOUNTANTS PAY FOR IT ALL

THEY SAY I’M CRAZY BUT IT TAKES ALL MY TIME

“Honey, is your wim wim as lame as that Oscar Meyer Wiener you’re roasting?”

Coach Shaw, getting desperate

“Oh I wish were as hard as this Oscar Meyer Wienerrrrrrrrr

Then my wife would truly be in love with me”

 

The kids understandably befuddled.

“Those aren’t the words.”

 

“When the hot dogs were firing up faster than my Significant Other, it was time to ‘fess up and head to Milford Men’s Clinic. You don’t need a pin oak branch to roast this bad boy and with proven treatment plans that work, isn’t it time you sang “Happy Days Are Here Again” at your next wienie roast? And they left the light on when me and Mrs. Shaw entered the cabin for our own Marshmallow Enrichment Seminar. Come get your own silver maple branch and start roasting the Vienna sausages only at The Clinic. You’ll be glad you did.”

Thanks again for your patience, Gang. I owe you one.

 

As I pondered, pondered the question

Whether my beloved Lenore would outlast this plot

The Raven, fresh from flatulating from a Burger at The Bucket

Reflected upon my inquisitive nature

Insensitive and inured to my desperate plight and the buffoonery therewith

And uttered

“Nevermore”

 

I’M BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN

 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Get to The Clinic. You’ll have 15 minutes before it closes.”

Gil puts “Rocks” back in the saddle, er, album sleeve

Look Sharp, Feel Sharp, Be… Blunt

 

I’m at a loss for why this visit to the Chance Macy family home is dragging out as long as it is.  I mean, we even get a beat panel for Pop-pop to bobble his head. Is it to finally fill in the blanks as to the whereabouts of Chance’s parents?

Previously I’d speculated that they went the way of Silent John Pascoe’s folks. Perhaps they met a more sinister fate. Have they been banished to the great unknown with the Thorp children? Or was it simply a Tonight Show gag gone horribly wrong?

Speaking of which, how are you fixed for blades, Chance?

To Read Or Not To Read, Ay, There’s The Rub.

It was windy in Milford. The forecast called for a tornado later. Right now, my partner Bill Gannon and I were investigating a lightning bolt of our own and this one came without the customary soft rain that put you to sleep when you had a day off. That was a rarity on this load of dynamite we had on our hands. When kids go to practice, it’s just a load of Paradise the way Milford sees it. Blocking drills is a roller coaster ride at Six Flags over Milford. But when when there’s trouble because some kid argues with the teenager who runs the log flume because the kid thinks he has to give the punk teenager a ticket (“Just get on the damn ride!!!!!!!!! You paid for everything at the entrance, asshole!!!!!!!!!!”) , that’s when I go to work. My name’s Friday. I carry a badge.

We were working in the Juvenile Family History Fraud Interrogation Unit, Special Task Force Inquiry Detail. The boss is Captain De Windt. We had received complaints that certain undividuals were taking matters into their own hands, prying into pig slop not of their own household, just to make their own pig sty Lambeau Field. Personally, if I had to sift through someone’s file just to turn up a Hanes T-shirt with a Smuckers strawberry jelly stain, I’d rather sit in the Lambeau Field picnic area with a Cheese Head garment I dug out of the trash. Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks.

“Any action, Joe?”

“None. Beaver still lives with the Clampetts.”

“I don’t get it. Why would some idiot go through the photo albums after he pried off the lock to the basement? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Guess is good as mine.”

“Oh look, Jethro just pulled up in the pickup with someone. God, that jerk looks like he needs a shave. And some Irish Spring. I can smell his B.O. through the air conditioner.”

It was time to go to work. Jethro Clampett had been coming in by himself. We were determined to find out why he drug in King Kong with the ugliest green tie this side of Mr. Huxtable off the street. The doggy doo was getting thicker and thicker and we’d have to purchase the heavy-duty Pooper Scooper from McShane’s hardware to sort through this pile of manure. Rent-a-Vac wasn’t going even to get the Jiffy Pop out of this gentleman’s beard.

 

Because I was intrigued recently by my workplace prohibiting loud pink pants as part of the dress code

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J.’s Niece On One Month Suspension From Her Carhop Job At The Bucket; Must Turn In The Skates!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“O.J not happy. ‘Just because she came to work in her Bootsy Collins outfit I gave her for Christmas? C’mon, Man.'”

 

And I had to do a double take today. Normally Gil traipses into someone’s domicile as if he was taking a break from Advanced Badminton, dressed to the nines in his best gym teacher apparel. But today when he substituted the whistle for the Izod and Milford Pic-way penny loafers,  I knew we were onto something more somber. Only thing missing from this General Hospital setting was “Puttin’ on the Ritz” blaring over the sound system Grandpa Macy has set up in the living room.

Then there’s those pictures on the bureau. And what better way to accommodate the 1,573,409 portraits of the Clampetts and Beaver than to grace this melange with FTD Floral Design of the Month. Sexy.

“Oh, and here’s a picture of us and Chance in a coal mine, watching the miners apply their trade.”

“Wow. I never knew Chance had a CDL to drive a tram.”

“And here’s one of Chance with Captain Kangaroo before he went to jail on a charge of child molestation. Fortunately, Mr. Macy was there in case he or Mr. Green Jeans tried to rear-end grab.”

“Thank God security was there. I can see them in the background with their guns in the holster.”

“Oh, and here’s one of Chance riding on the merry-go-round with the Spanish Inquisition at the Milford County Fair.”

“Oh my goodness, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition to ride on some cheap Arabion toy stallion.”

BOM BOM BOMMMMMMMMMMMMM

NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUSITION

“I swear, Chance is innocent!!!!!!!!!! He only got blowtop mad once when some Oakwood player called his mom a whore!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

If ya got half a million 5 × 7’s of ya posin’ with all yore beagles, and the other half are wallet-sized jobs ya got all while sittin’ on some piano stool down at Olan Mills Studio while yore family fotos are stored away in some closet by the kitchen, ya might be a redneck.

 

We leave Hamlet in P1 to figure out how he’s going to explain to Mimi why he’s late for Hamburger Helper (“I swear, Mimi, that portrait of him and Keith Moon standing in front of the Holiday Inn they just trashed took me for a loop. That 8 x 11 of them in the Cadillac in the swimming pool was priceless.”) , and we learn that Beaver at 12 (guessing) looks pretty good and it is indeed a nifty look with him and and his grandparents. Now if somebody can explain to me why Granny Clampett still looks like Granny Clampett while Jed Clampett lost a disproportionate amount of hair from the Milford Photography shoot up to the present, that person has my blessing when they play Milford Powerball at the Milford 7-11.

And Gil, get real. Kids are kids. And the only reason at this point why any dirt is being dug is some uncouth ADULT is engineering this just because the butthole wants more playing time for his own stepson.

And why are you bringing the kids into this anyway when this is as obvious as the nose on your face. Greg Brady isn’t going to be at some phone booth trying to sound like a grown man (“Why is Popeye calling about Chance’s time at Sing Sing?”) so that he can play first-string. Sure, there’s always jealousy among kids but they don’t go THAT FAR, mainly because they can’t and wouldn’t have a clue for the wherewithal to do it. Gil, you won’t see Dennis the Menace in Chance’s personal file.

And come on, Gil. Who ELSE would be calling about Chance’s dirty laundry, especially when Mr. Ballard has made it pretty clear to a lot of people involved his motives for sorting through the muck. Dr. Pearl? Steve Luhm? The Milford Barbershop Quartet? And BTW, Dr. Pearl may have aged gracefully from the Treaty of Paris but not like Granny Macy who aged in an Amana microwave.

Gil down at the Milford Lounge

“I don’t know what Jack Anderson wants with Chance’s reform school records. Does he have a kid on the reserves? He does? I never would have guessed. Bartender, another Fresca. And give me some Milford Vending Beer Nuts to go.”

 

What happened recently at the Milford Circle K Shell

“…WDIG-TV live here at the Milford Minimum Security Facility where our man on the case has discovered an inmate who knows who shot Coach Shaw.”

“Marty, John Upshaw, a lifer for petty thievery at The Bucket, says he was hocking Bucket hot buns in his trunk when a trusted informant says he saw the culprit who pulled the trigger. He’s here with us now.”

“That’s right, Marty and Harold. The weapon was a doozy. The one who used the weapon was none other than-”

BEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Clerk has receipt

 

 

And now we get to the part in the Louis L’Amour dime novel where Dude Macy is at Last Gulch Junction about to have it out with Sheriff Wyatt Thorp. Sheriff Thorp has dug up all the gold and yearbooks out of Cripple Creek that was undisturbed by even the grizzlies in a oaken chest and now it’s high noon at Durango.

And Sheriff Wyatt Thorp could make the Tombstone moment more effective if the camera would stop inflicting us with half a crotch shot. Bat Masterson’s left cheek is keeping us from appreciating the call to justice that is The Wild West. One of these days we will see the Clanton Boys knocked off their horses with 6-shooters once we remove Fred Flintstone’s butt.

Right now, Chance has come home and his obvious curiosity is leading us into tomorrow. Hope it goes somewhere. Just leave the derriere out of the picture. Crotch shots of Dagwood when he’s arguing with Mr. Dithers for a raise we could do without.

 

Late at night on WDIG-TV with Barth and Jerry hosting Milford 2 Nite

“Our next guest claims he’s Milford’s Unoffficial Ambassador for Industry. Trying like H-E-double hockey sticks to bring new companies right here in M-town, I suppose. Would you please welcome Mr. William W.D. “Gil” Prize.”

Applause as “Gil” walks out with a chin strap and wiffleball, only the wiffleball is holding back the front of his hair.

“Ah, Mr. Prize, good to see you again. I understand you have a new company, Mattel, that will have a Hot Wheels plant in the works right on the edge of town.”

“That’s right, Barth, ya cain’t build enough toy motorages for the kiddies to play with. Why if ol’ Chancer had a coupla hot rods in his room, he wouldnda robbed The Bucket.”

“Reform comes in many ways, I reckon. We have some mail and we’d like to read a couple of letters about the new factory before we go on. Jerry has the first one.”

“Who’s that imbecil with that basketball in his hair?”

“Well, Mr. Prize-”

“Ya can call me ‘Gil’.”

“Alright, ‘Gil’, let’s read another one. Maybe it’ll get to the heart of the matter. Jerry?”

“Barth, here’s one. It says ‘Tell Tutankamen Head that the Hieroglyphic Period ended when Dr. Pearl graduated with her Masters.'”

“That just makes me so daggone mad!!!!!!!!!!! That just-”

“‘Gil, WHAT IS that thing in your hair.”

“I have an protrusion in my forehead and th’ only way ta slap it back inta submission is get a coupla harness wires, some penny nails, and a wiffleball.”

“Barth, I think it’s a good idea. Just use some linseed oil in case the wiffle ball gets tangled up in his bangs. I’m just saying. I had a friend of mine that had to use a hacksaw to separate his locks from a shuttlecock.”

“Jerry, I’d love to see YOU get tangled up in Ms. Rizk’s typewriter.”

“Barth and Jerry, this overbite in my forehead will go away once I’s apply th’ necessary pressurage ta the sitauation at the forehands.”

“I’d do a forehand smash on your hair.”

JERRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Comment to your heart’s content, Gang. Me and Barth and Jerry are going to try to pry that football off of Gil’s chin. He’s had overbite in his hair and underbite in his chin for 60 years but this is ridiculous.

 

10:32PM. The Tornado Watch had passed but Milford still had a warm front to deal with. My partner Bill and I were in some warm water of our own and this one didn’t use Mr. Bubble.

We were on stakeout at Chance’s house. Even though Chance had done his homework and was already in bed, we couldn’t be too careful. We’d heard Bozo the Clown was out snooping the neighborhood from a tip we got from Mrs. Kravits. Gil never figured out who’d been prying into Chance’s affairs although we could see the writing on the wall and we don’t mean “Gil sucks” that was spray-painted on the doors at Entrance A of Milford’s gym. If Gil couldn’t figure out that it was Chet Ballard, he needed to get his A license and haul for Milford Trucking. No wonder why he couldn’t coach a dog at a fire hydrant. And other than Grandpa Macy going down to Milford’s 24-Hour Apothecary for Rogaine, there was not much activity to report. There usually wasn’t in this plot.

“Joe, let’s call it a night. I’m bored out of my skull.”

“Same here. Wanna hit The Bucket again? I’ll go half on Bucket Buffalo Wings ‘n’ TartaSauce.”

“Sure. Anything’s better than watch Gil down his 3rd bafg of Chips Ahoy.”

“God, I hope Gil coaches better than the Keebler Elves.”

“I agree. How ’bout adding Bucket Chili Fries to that order?”

“Sounds good. Let’s go.”

 

“…and Jim Joe Johnson says to Jerry Pulver, I can tackle better than a whale. Why ol’ Moby Dick missed so many tackles, ya thought he was playin’ for Tilden…”

“‘Gil, I think you talk better than you coach.”

“Shoot, I’ll coach a donkey’s leg off…”

 

And where the hell is he going?

Chet Chit Chat*  overhears students rehashing the game (as if anybody really does that at a high school game; most kids are looking at their phone or discussing the latest party plans after a game) and decides that poor Charlie is getting the short end of the stick even though he’s PLAYING and Chance isnt. Sure looks bright out there for a night game too.

The next day, he goes to a building saying – you can read it– I would say to peruse some official records of students? Where on Gods green earth is such a building located anywhere?  This guy is looking more nosy by the second. What the hell is he gonna find in there? Chances eligibility records? Why wouldnt Milford High School have them? And how does he get access to Chances records when he isnt related to him at all??

Question isnt ‘who is this kid?’  Its who the hell is this guy??

*A broadcaster named Bruce Wolf came up with an alter ego many years ago called Chet Chit Chat on his radio/TV shows. I believe it was a reference to Chet Coppock, another media personality who passed away recently. Anyone from the Chicago area would know this reference.

…Wasn’t The Last Time Milford Properties Said We Had To Be Out By The First.

I’m livin’ with Grandma

We’re splittin’ the rent

It’s best to tolerate the toilet seat slop

Or it’s sleep in a tent

2541

Big windows to let in the sun

2541

Richie Rich poster’s caught in the sun

Ooooooookkkkkk, Grant Hart aside(RIP, Big Guy, you touched MANY people), we know two things 1) Chance Macy reads Hardy Boys Mysteries (“The Clue to Gil’s Safe Deposit Box at Milford Federal”) when he’s not on the gridiron chewing up yardage and running over his opponents 2) Dr. Pearl’s sister lost it all in The Depression and is forced to live with family, the other option Milford Soup Kitchen Ministries and a bed at Milford Temporary Hostel, Inc. I didn’t think Chance was related to Grandma Moses. We would have seen “Winter Scene at Mudlark Lake” rather than Captain America on the wall.

And yet another diversion, just as we were getting used to Sharp Dressed Man performing in his role as Obnoxious Oaf in relation to his stepson’s football career, at least at Milford. And if we want to be efficient about this, why don’t we call a truce and say that if Chance’s parents won’t make Grandma Macy sleep next to the Snapper Riding Mower out in the garage and let her bed down in the basement of Chet’s abode, Chet can go to football games in attire from Milford Men’s Wearhouse, acting like a baboon when Gil calls a pass on 3-and-2. I understand Chet has a nice bar down below. Grandma Macy can get drunk and, well, you Jimmy Buffett fans know what I mean.

“GODDAMIT, THORP, THAT’S THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE CALLED THAT SHORT ROUTE!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY STEPSON CAN SHOVE THAT NOSE TACKLE OUT OF THE WAY ON SHORT YARDAGE!!!!!!!!!”

“Sir, you mind? There’s kids playing over by the press box.”

Big shout-out to Greg Simmons over at Shreves Engines in St. Louis, Missouri. He has been a very loyal customer for years and has weathered a lot of storms to keep his end of things at Shreves more than thriving. Every time I come there, the business is humming and hopping. He gets things done either as the boss man or when he does it himself. Last week, he got a truck unloaded then did business with me in a matter of minutes. Sounds like Small Business America gettin’ it done to me. His crew has always been the best to me as a pleasant bonus. I salute you, Greg. You da Man.

Support Small Business, Gang. It makes America run.

 

If ya splat a poster on th’ wall that shows Cap’n America battlin’ the aliens, warmongers, Huns, Visigoths, Vikings, Vietcong, Nazis, Siberians, Sandanistas, Martians, Jacobins, Seljuk Turks, Dravidians, Tuscanites, and the charter membership from the Milford Bridge Club and he’s haulin’ his shield around to saw ’em all in two and blastin’ the rest with his ray gun that he hangs on his gun rack in his pickup while his Fruit of the Looms are stickin’ out proud as a peacock in the heat of the action, ya might be a redneck.

 

Hair wrapped in curlers

Downed my Haley’s M-O

Waitin’ for my grandson to come home

And brag how many yards did he go

 

2541

Big windows to let in the sun

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Big sunbeams shinin’ on his toy gun

 

Okay. I could bite and get REAL sarcastic here and just jump on Grandma Macy’s comment about fame in P1. But let’s explore the possibilities, you know, solve problems, not fight them. This, after all, is a comedy blog, not the Demarcation Zone. We live to see another day without warfare in the rearview mirror.

“How’s fame treating you, Big Boy?”

“Well, I had to hire an agent to talk with Gil. I needed SOMEBODY to talk some sense into Coach T. 30 carries wasn’t enough and I wasn’t going to be no blocking back for Luke Bunkin when he ran that double reverse sweep. Sacrificial lamb is not in my vocabulary. Then I had to hire a bodyguard to stave off all the groupies at Milford High School. Hey, I almost flunked my Organic Chemistry exam getting mobbed by the sophomore girls in one of the M.C. Escher hallways. Then I had to hire a press agent after Milford Men’s Clinic called for the 15th time. Like I have erectile issues. Where’s Coach Shaw when you need him? He always leaves after suicides. Otherwise, I’m just a normal kid. I poop like everybody else.”

“I always knew you’d turn out to be a good boy. Want some Swiss Miss?”

 

I love it when I can get to the heart of the matter with no bloodshed, don’t you?

 

After we get all touchy-feely in P2 and the dust has settled, it has been driving me crazy while I sip on my Chock Full o’ Nuts Natural Blend coffee and try to place the face of the person who has clearly age-progressed. I’m talking about the woman, you ninnies. Didja think I was insinuating that Chance had age-progressed from Pop Warner League?

Misunderstanding out of the way, I think it is safe to say that Velma Dinkley has retired from crime-fighting and ferreting out criminals in caves and barns and silos that surround Milford with Shaggy and Scooby and the rest (Fred and Daphne replacing Professor and Mary Ann in those wheels in the opening credits of Gilligan’s Island) and come to retire in her grandson’s abode. Isn’t this just the storyline tailor-made somewhere in March for a happy ending? Naturally, we’ll have to slog through the rest of the soap opera with Chet “Call Me ‘Dad”, Dammit” Baker and Charlie “Get Off My Case, Dad” Roh, the football season that MIGHT utilize all 3 panels for action down the road (Wouldn’t THAT be a change of pace) , the 5-game season that Mimi teaches as a character-builder to her female hoopsters (“We might be filler while Gil has to convince Jaquan he is NOT a member of the team, but we KICKED GOSHEN’S ASS”) , the Super Bowl and Valentine’s Day but if it leads to more tender moments like between Chance and Velma, by gum, I’m all for it. Just keep your dentures in place, Velma, when you kiss out of mutual respect.

 

Now the ball game is over (guitar struttin’ each line down the pipe in this sequence except last line)

Grandma’s hair in a bun

Totino’s Supreme in the oven

At 2541

 

Because I will never know how Muldraugh, Kentucky, the only town in Kentucky COMPLETELY surrounded by Fort Knox, has EVER withstood a bomb that went awry in the firing range, even with all that land. I mean, someone could have pull the trigger when the soldier was drunk, right? The Dairy Queen has never endured a wayward A-Bomb?

 

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“O.J. Moving To The Other End Of Town After Missile Barely Misses His Condo And Obliterates The Furniture From Evicted Tenants!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“I’m movin’ close by Cochrane’s place. I need some legal advice on my pension plus he’s nowhere near Camp Mudlark.”

 

We move from the Macy household section of the tour and continue our our Era of Good Feelings in P3. Now wouldn’t it be just like Thorpiverse to ruin the Botticelli landscape by inserting Chet when Charlie was just beginning to have fun playing football? And Coach Kaz needs a pick-me-up after the inexplicable cryptic tete-a-tete he had with Gil and his talking hand the other day. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is some lingering bad vibes from that conversation and I’d be pissed too if I was basically blown off after asking a legitimate question. What’s wrong with Chance’s bio nestled in the Milford Enquirer between “I Saw Elvis At The Drive-Thru Picking Up His Medicine At Milford Apothecary!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and “‘Beer Drinking Is Good For You’, A Study At Milford Community College Confirms.”? Gil needs to get off his high hand and take a chill pill. And quit chewing his nails. That talking hand is down to nubs.

So keep Chet out of the conversation and let Gil’s hand get surgically removed. As Allen Neuharth, the great CEO of USA Today once said “Keep your good people on top and keep your bean counters on tap.” Stay in the stands and drink your Mr. Pibb and shut up, in other words, Chet. Stick to insurance and hand-purging.

 

Granny’s not into fist bumps

She’s privy to hugs

And it won’t be the last time we’ll ever compare Chet

To a roomful of bugs

 

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Big windows to let in the sun

2541

Here’s hopin’ Charlie’s havin’ some fun

 

254111111111111111……

 

Big shout-out to Danielle Harpe (Harpy) who does a great job at Cash Saver in Edwardsville, Indiana. She was very courteous and professional in her job, something us customers always appreciate. As a cashier, she got me out the door before you know it. I could tell she knew her job well, able to steer customers to where they needed to go and she was able to answer any question I had about pricing. Sounds like someone who represents America, Gang. Give her a salute the next time you shop there. She’s earned it.

 

“And Charlie Roh gives the friendly fist bump to Coach Shaw after Coach Shaw and Charlie have both performed. And that gives me an opportunity to call a station break. You’re listening to Marty Moon on WDIG-Radio, a division of Lear Field Sports.”

 

“Hi, this is Dr. Pearl. Don’t you think my sister is giving an Oscar-winning rendition? We were both actresses in the school play. As a matter of fact, we were in the play before ‘Our American Cousin”, the fateful show where Lincoln was shot. I will never forget hearing the ambulance coming for ol’ Abe. My sister and I had to hold back the tears.

So how does my sister keep plugging away after all these centuries and still make it to the john well into the millenium? Hugging her grandson and keeping that sleeper hold on him but not enough to dog-hunch him until he goes to bed?

The good people at Bristol-Myers have came up with a cold cream, Acid-Gel that does wonders on the lower limbs. Simply apply a dab to the kneecap and ACL’s are a thing of the past. That’s important because she could have used that when she was a Flapper Girl trying to impress John Barrymore but her knees gave out doing the Charleston. And when her tendinitis was acting up, she needed more than prune juice to move her legs properly. She lost her job as Rosie the Riveter that way and had to go back on welfare. Knowing you weren’t contributing to the war effort while munching on Shredded Wheat from food stamps can be a crusher. And when her toe nail polish won’t wash away, Acid-Gel is right there so embarrassing Revlon stains won’t appear in the carpet. Erase your mistakes and hug ’em tighter when they score the winning touchdown, I’ve always said.

But you too can get this wondrous cream that solves a multitude of sins. You can order it online at http://www.acidgelhelpsoldgeezers.com or call 1-888-GEL-HELP. AND it will be available at Milford Apothecary and Mudlark Orthodontics come this October. It takes a little time to clear tariff regulations.

What have you got to lose except pain in your legs? I wish I’d had some when I was on the playground with Grover Cleveland. He could be a bully. Come try some today and never feel old again. Now it belongs to the ages.

 

Comment away, Gang. I’m going to hug Granny Clampett just as soon as she gets done boiling my jowl bacon ‘n’ chicken gizzards. We all need incentive. Like Wilt Chamberlain once said when a reporter asked if he could jump to a chandelier in the building, Wilt replied

“No, but if you throw a $100 dollar bill up there, I bet I learn real fast!!!!”

Motivation, baby.

 

“He could have topped the century mark in rushing if you’d left him in the game. I know you didn’t want to run up the score-”

“Chet, come to bed.”

Seeing Chance Macy

Chet and the only other party attendee willing to talk to him other than Chet’s wife are both creeps.

Panel 3 is amazing in so many ways, from the off-center lampshade to the multi-surface flooring right down to Chance’s socks, the details all count for so much and yet convey so little.

As is so often the case, we are left to simply ask What The Hell Is Going On Here?