This Week in Milford

September 16, 2020

Punctuation Is Important

Filed under: football, Gil Thorp, Marjie Ducey, Oakwood — teenchy @ 1:00 pm

“Charlie, how does it feel knowing you’re gonna get more touches without your stepfather’s involvement?”

“Gee, Miss Ducey, I hadn’t thought of it that way. Not since my mom sent Chet to live in the garage and I stole his credit card – oops, did I say that last part out loud?”

“Never mind. Chance was the starter last season; do you feel like you’re pushing him?”

“I would never push Chance, Miss Ducey. Haven’t you ever seen him get blowtop mad?”

Okay, so we get the picture that both of Gil’s quarterback options kinda suck and that he’s just gonna use them as game managers while the two-headed Charlie/Chance hydra tries to pound the ball down the Valley’s collective throats. But who’s gonna start at game manager in the season opener?

That all depends on how you interpret Gil’s little speech. How long of a pause did he take after saying “wondering”?

Then again Gil’s old school no I doubt there’s any upward inflection on his part. No, it’s gonna be the Thayer kid who starts against Oakwood. Thayer or Rapson, either way I don’t think it’ll take Tod Andrews long to figure out Gil’s little game plan.

September 15, 2020

There’s An “I” In The Words “At Each Other’s Necks Again”.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:00 am

Coach, you just uttered one of the bigger understatements in a while. To try to showcase two running backs which will more than likely provide a solid 1-2 punch this season while the spotlight is focused on two buttholes who are lowering the team to the level of the ditch behind the high school is like trying to advertise how scrumptious banana splits are at The Bucket in the middle of an armed robbery. Yeah, I think you better call the police on either one.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way. Charles Rapson runs his mouth and is more talk than walk. Yup, winning talks big and bullpoop walks into Gil’s office begging for a job as the water boy. Coach, I smell like I just stepped in a cow pasture but there’s plenty of that in your office anyway. And I know where the hose is to fill the bottles with water. Anyway, Charles needs to shut up and play.

But on the other side of the coin is Will Thayer who’s turning out to be a goody two-shoes as A Boy Named Rapp alludes to. Yeah, Rapp’s been flapping his gums but you aren’t helping the cause flapping your own dentures. Don’t say the other old geezer needs Poly-Grip with your teeth all over the gridiron. As anybody who has learned playing sports, you let your game do the talking. Will, hit Mr. Towelbutt between the cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones that line your face, and you can let the conversation flow. Otherwise, your conversation is flowing down the same sewer as ol’ Rappy Boy.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Thayer Refuses To Shower In The Same Facility As Rapp!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Thayer: ‘He’s the only dude I know that needs to apply Oxy-5 to his butt’.”

And here we go again with another installment of Marjie “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window Again For The Lowdown On The Food Fight Between Rapson And Thayer” Ducey. And darn, there’s no Manwiches this year when she’s ripping up Ryan vs. Ditka. Oh well, maybe there’ll be another charity baseball scrimmage next year.

The sad thing is, Gil is simply telling the truth to a certain degree, he’s got some horses this year to make Milford a legitimate contender, Chance “I really didn’t go to reform school” Macy and Charlie “My stepdad SHOULD be in reform school” Roh. But naturally, all of that will get sidetracked by the sideshow between Rapson and Thayer.

And instead of taking charge and telling these two Bozos to patch up their differences and play some football, Gil has to zip up his pants and put on his jacket while he’s trying to be funny with Marjie. Did you ever try to be like Foghorn Leghorn and tell a funny while you’re in the broom closet with someone who likes to get it on? Gil is failing miserably in this endeavor. Gil, next time, close the bathroom window so that Ducey doesn’t sneak in when Luhm isn’t there to scrub the toilet and GET YOUR ASS OUT ON THE FIELD. Then the QB question won’t be a question.

Special Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Minor Altercation At The Milford Diner This Afternoon!!!!!!!!!!!! Three Charged In Incident!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Preliminary reports indicate it arose over choices between Ham and Rye Variety Pak and the Roast Beef & Au Gratin Potatoes Combo. Rapson and Thayer released on bond. Thayer’s mother charged separately on assault and battery.”

Then WHAT IS THIS????? Milford Mid-City Mall’s Annual Mudlark Modeling Revue Extraordinaire ’20???? Yeah, I wouldn’t try to cash in a Lotto ticket at Milford 7-11 betting that they’re actually going to practice. Not that Gil has displayed any forte in that regard but I woild have liked the odds better. Here, they’re hellbent on traipsing down the runway for the Milford Fashion Scene to ogle at.

We’ll start with the shirt. Yup, guaranteed to intimidate the opposition and create a fashion statement at the Milford Elks Club meeting for the wives of the members to enjoy. Just apply some Irish Spring Body Wash and you’ll have those female octagenarians at the Elks Club Raffle swooning and buying more than one ticket.

Next the pants. Can’t have your crack jutting out of those Speedos when sashaying in front of the sartorial society. Nobody’s going to be ooh’ing and ah’ing when you display the Grand Canyon while picking up the gum wrapper that slipped out of your pocket. Keep it nice and tight. Pretend like you’re modeling front of Mr. T. I bet your football pants will be sexy and absent of extranumerary, not to mention embarrassing, objets d’art. Washington did not cross the Delaware with his butt hanging out of his breeches.

Next are the cleats. Try to keep the steel studs in your locker. Modeling floors that resemble Maureen’s face when she’s adding another applique of Pond’s Cold Cream are simply gauche. You wouldn’t want your kitchen floor with 39 lashes, would you? Keep your adidas shiny, use plenty of Kiwi so that they shine better than Gil’s hair after he applied Turtle Wax. Oh, and keep your shoelaces tied. DO NOT fall into Marjie Ducey’s lap. She’ll get the wrong idea.

This is NOT the time to be pirouetting down the runway in your jock strap. No better way to get blackballed from Milford Fashion Society than to have your testicles hanging out when the item of note was not even scheduled to appear. No sense in worrying about missing the cue. Stick it up your butt and get some real clothes and hope they forget. It should work, people have forgotten about the baseball scrimmage.

“Oh, those shoulder pads are so LAST YEAR!!!!!!!!!!”

“Well, Coach, it’s either that or we order out of the Kohl’s online catalog.”

Supplement to the Milford Enquirer

“Rapson Knocked To The Deck, Will Require 23 Stitches To The Head!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Witnesses at the scene report that they were expounding on Dr. Pearl’s hairline.”

And it’s time for another addition of Fill in the Blank. I love it when Thorpiverse splits up the conversation, like we’ll kick the cat if Gil doesn’t complete the thought process. If the Milford Enquirer is missing P3 and your a Siamese, you best be hiding under your litter box. So as long as we’re Meeting With Marjie

“Gil, I was really expecting another buffet here at the Two-a-Day’s. I realize it was hard to engineer another All-You-Can-Pig-Out-Before-Puking-During-Wind-Sprints because The Diner catering manager quit for a similar position at Milford Disposal but the Pork Pit Plate w/ beans and cole slaw-WHAT is THAT pole doing in the middle of the field?”

“Oh, that. It was done by the art class and I gave them permission to pursue their “Cue Stick In The Grass-A Lesson in Impressionistic Form in the Fin de Siecle” as long as they had it dismantled by Opening Night.”

Okay. Everybody has a firm grasp on this one. If you don’t, too bad. Captain Kangaroo isn’t running practice. Anyway, let’s explore the possibilities of what Gil’s thought process might be should the press operator spill Maxwell House on P3

“-we can proceed with the prosecution. I already got in touch with the district attorney. Rapson should be sent up the river by Halloween and Thayer should have a prosthetic installed by then. We can switch Second Chance Macy to QB if we have to. Roh won’t have his stepdad riding his coattails so those sweeps should be lighter on the load to run. Diving plunges in the end zone oughta be a piece of cake.”

No? Okay, here’s another.”

“-we won’t have to go through the damn playbook in one night like we had to on Labor Day so that several missed the Labor Day Parade and we can have a O-Line Gets It party at Milford Lounge. As long as their parents sign the permission slips, they shouldn’t get carded at the door. Sometimes they gotta let their shoulder pads down.”

Okay, okay, get off my back. Let me try one more

“-I won’t have to listen to Marty on his call-in show bitching about how my QB’s don’t get protection. Like he uses any on a date. He better clean out his closet. We can still get back up and call another play. He has to call a lawyer when he gets careless.”

I tried. I really tried.

At the Milford Modeling show

“Hey Boy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You lookin’ mighty fine in that jock strap!!!!!!!!! And when the judges ain’t lookin’, get over here and f-“

“Chance!!!!!! Chance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wake up!!!!!!!!!! They sent Mr. Ballard to Sing Sing. You’ve been acquitted!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And the tree art work continues to impress. At least the cue stick is standing up straight. It should withstand any Tacoma Narrows Bridge affairs.

“This week on You Asked For It, a group of small-town high school football players almost got the surprise of their lives while in the huddle. Our on-scene reporter is there now where the concession stand is a thing of the past…”

Maybe Thorpiverse thinks there’s trees out there that grow at 45 degree angles to other trees but I can’t say I’ve ever seen an elm tree catecorner to a hackberry tree. I know nurseries out there employ different methods for optimum growing results but I’ve yet to hike my local nature preserve and observe poplars at an angle you would shoot a cannonball out of to defeat the Rebel army at Antietem. But maybe I need to read Shelby Foote again.

Late Night Edition to the Milford Enquirer

“Thayer’s Body Discovered In Dumpster Behind Milford Lanes!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Rapson Held As A Suspect!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“He was my friend.”

P3-“Gil, wanna see me throw? Because the only thing those two clowns have thrown is a fit.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Oh stop it, Marjie, you’re killing me.”

When I hear these commercials and/or The Milford Diner talk about wild-caught fish sandwiches, it puts my mind at ease that the Burger King Cod did NOT come out of somebody’s aquarium. With that in mind

“Folks, with the kids going back to school and COVID-19 still among us like my two QB’s that need to take their games to recess, it’s even more important to eat healthy by eating the 4 food groups and keeping germs off your plate. Now I’m not your mother so I’m not going to see if you’re eating broccoli, Brussel sprouts, and spinach when you go to The Bucket but I will see that your food is fit for human consumption.

Hi, this is Coach Thorp for Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage. There have been some unwarranted, nasty rumors about our sausage. That we ship them in from the jungles of Africa or South America or when the hunters in Indiana in the fall have shot their limit and dump the dead pigs in a cornfield for the buzzards to feast on. If you honestly believe that, I have elevator passes to sell you leading into Mimi’s office.

Let me reassure you that even if I order 3 plates of wild-caught trout down at The Diner and have them pour tartar sauce on the specimens conquered by the bamboo pole, I will never allow any employee to hunt for meat in the restricted area of the state forest and I’m not even a good shot anyway. Porky Pig lives another day because my aim isn’t true and my Winchester needs cleaning in the barrels big-time.

So when you’re a guest for your son in the Milford Elementary School cafeteria, you can be 100% satisfied that the Italian Sausage Burger and Buffalo Fries may have arose out some buffalo’s butt for all we know but the sausage burger is locally bred and raised. The farmers around here don’t need to hunt for their Sloppy Joe sandwiches in their woods when they can stuff them with millet and sorghum and an occasional Big Mac and send it to the slaughterhouse ready for somebody’s birthday party.

Or maybe you’re still a doubting Thomas and you think our Sage ‘n’ Spicy Supreme is off some porker that the lions didn’t catch up to on the savannahs of Kenya. Trust me, we tried importing hogs from Austria as a token of American good will until I saw the tariff bill on my desk. Do you really think I’m paying duty for a pig straight out of a crocodile’s mouth when the croc can’t catch up to the hippo? Please.

And Okay, you namby-pamby Communists who think I live off the toil and sweat of hunters who lost their jobs as fisherman because there was no more tuna off the coast of Alaska for a month and they had to resort to ferreting out Yorkshires on Kodiak Island. No Denny’s Sausage Links that we supply them with has EVER come from The Last Frontier. Any hog that survives that frigid air doesn’t belong on the pile of flapjacks that Denny’s promotes as part of its All The Pancakes You Can Eat Lunch Special. Believe me, when I have a lunch date with the CEO of Tennessee Pride, my sausage is my own. His sausage and flapjacks can escape out of Rhode Island for all I care. The point is, I will not pour Aunt Jemima on dead wild pigs. You have my word on that. Bet the Tennessee Pride CEO can’t say that.

So come on down and get your package today of Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage and get piece of mind that our farmers only produce the best sausage that nature has to offer. Remember, bow season is for deer, not Miss Piggy. Let your taste buds come alive and savor the assurance.

Gang, you are more patient than I have a right to expect. All I can do is pass it along. But I will.

God bless you, Gang.

Headline in the Milford Enquirer Sunday Edition

“Thayer Emphatically Denies Petty Thievery Charge!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sub headline

“Why would I steal his mom’s panty hose when I can buy fishing nets like that at Dollar General and stick that store-brand job in my girlfriend’s stocking at Christmas?”

Maureen arguing with a customer at The Diner

“Sir, that Catfish Cacciatore is wild-caught!!!!!!!! I saw the employee drag it through the algae out of the pond!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

September 14, 2020

It’s Hard Out There For A Thorp

Filed under: Gil Thorp, Marjie Ducey, Mimi Thorp, Volleyball — nedryerson @ 5:33 am

It’s tough to be a Coach Thorp. First we have Mimi trying to facilitate a welcoming atmosphere in volleyball practice without doing any of the heavy lifting. She thought she could count on Becca and Susan to drive the welcome wagon, but they seem to be goofballs. Mimi realizes that she might actually have to talk to Corina if she wants to make sure that Corina feels welcome on the team. Oh, poor Mimi. Sorry you might have to interact with a student.

Then we have Gil dealing with the incessant Milford media, even the one (or only) media representative who isn’t Marty Moon. Marjie wants to know who will start at QB. Gil is evasive, either because he already had to answer one question last week and he’s still recovering from the strain, or because he hasn’t actually figured out how to answer Marjie’s question.

September 12, 2020

Corina and the Angry Three Inches

Filed under: anatomically implausible, Mimi Thorp, shadow figures, Volleyball — teenchy @ 6:03 pm

I have been compared to several people over the course of my life. When I played baseball I was referred to as “a white Kirby Puckett,” more for my physical dimensions than my batting prowess. On more than one occasion in Philadelphia, I was mistaken for a former Attorney General of Pennsylvania. At a fundraiser for the National Ataxia Foundation and the Bob Allison Ataxia Research Center many years ago, I was mistaken for a certain actor by a couple of drunken attendees and pestered to the point that I signed the actor’s name on a couple of napkins to get them to leave me alone. Until yesterday, however, never have I been compared to Joan Rivers. I was beginning to think of myself as TWIM‘s version of Edwin Jackson – an innings eater. But, okay, fine. If I’m ever half as good at anything as Joan was at comedy, then I will have done well.

On to today’s strip. It wasn’t enough for Rubin to give Corina authority issues; she had to be a general jerk to everyone around her as well. Now we can add “wants to be violent towards people” to her psychological profile. She may also suffer from penis envy a Napoleon complex as she wishes she had Becca’s three additional inches to better inflict harm on her opponents.

I do appreciate the little difference of opinion between Becca and Susan on Corina; hopefully Becca’s take is a sign that Corina’s shtick is getting old. I also appreciate the contortions Mimi’s elbows have to go through to get her forearms parallel to her shirt placket and her palms up at collarbone level.

September 11, 2020

I’m just a libero

Filed under: big arms, song parody, Volleyball — robmize2013 @ 7:55 pm

Thanks again to teechy for filling in for me again on my latest trip – this time to Munising Michigan in the Upper Peninsula as my amazing summer draws to a close. Lake Superior is magnificent to say the least, although the gale force winds Sunday afternoon and Monday morning put the kibosh on our kayaking plans. We’ll try again in 3 weeks in the Mississippi River. Teenchy is getting like Joan Rivers on the Tonight Show when Johnny Carson was close to retirement- seems like you saw her more then Johnny for a couple years. Keep up the good work buddy!

I’m in the mood for a song, so in the immortal words of the former paramedic David Lee Roth, here goes…

I’m just a libero, and everywhere I go

People know the role I’m playing

Paid for every game, stealing stuff in shame

Ooh, what they’re sayin’

There will come a day when Milford goes away

What will they say about me?

When volleyballs’ a go The setters only know

I’ll kill a Goshen as a libero.

I’m just a libero and everywhere I go

Maureen knows the hat I’m stealin.

Paid by True in cash, selling my old hash

Ooh, what they’re sayin’

But there will come a day when Mimi draws a play

What will they say about me?

When the pizza comes, I know I was just a libero

Life goes on without me, ’cause

I…………..cant find a high school

No high school

No Mod school

No high school

Moooooms so sad and lonely

Sad and lonely, sad and lonely…..

September 10, 2020

Have You Stopped Beating Your Wife, Coach?

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 9:34 am

“Coach, Just about every fan in the Milford section and the opponent’s fans across the field in their own stands thought that not playing Will Thayer in favor of Joe Senior was about as shit-headed of a move as you’ve implemented the last 60 years. They said, to heck with loyalty to people who have stomached your BS on the practice field and your drinking binges at the MCC Annual Dart Tournament off the field, you put your best 11 out there on the gridiron or go apply as a line cook at The Diner. And to tell Mouth That Runs Around The Track A Mile A Minute that he earns his stripes around here. A lot of people, including Mr. Holiday Inn Towel Crammed Up His Ass, have said he’s all blow and no show. That he needs to get that Nick’s Canadian Bacon Pizza out of his mouth and hit his target and stop talking trash and actually show whatt he can do but he can’t do it when Mr. Goody Two Shoes is the projected QB and ties his shoelaces and backs up his talk which he couldn’t do last year because Joe Senior was hogging the spotlight and not giving any to Mr. Goody Two Shoes and DEFINITELY not Mr. Mouth and not even you, Coach, the latter of which I understand will earn a trip on the bench for Insubordination-Conflict with Coach Over Misunderstood Objectives. But what do you think?”

If you took Logic, you had to remember Begging the Question. The fallacy arises in assuming the conclusion in one of the premises. If I say that worthless piece of horsemeat I ate at lunch with flies everywhere was a Bucket Burger and I go on to conclude that Bucket Burgers are not up to snuff, well, I think you grasp the general concept.

And that is pretty much the interview with a one Marty Moon. Personally, I think the man sleeps in his bed with snakes when he’s not sleeping with Peaches but his questioning, though with dubious intentions, have been reasonably valid over the years.

But you talk about a loaded shotgun today.

“Coach, don’t you think your shit-for-brains strategy to use Will as a tight end when he couldn’t catch the Holiday Inn towel if Mr. Towelbutt was bending over or Jumpy Jaws as a left tackle when he’d pee in his jock strap trying to block the 400-pound defensive end was just plain bad football that needed to be buried in Mimi’s Garden?”

“Watch your language, Moon. My kids are running around the track.”

And we weren’t apprised of any QB controversy because we were too pre-occupied with the Running Back Controversy, only incited by an outside party, i.e., Chet Ballard, who was mercilessly plugging his stepson, Charlie Roh, at the expense of American Tourister-laden Chance Macy. Gang, are you really ready for another supernumerary rivalry that will bog down the football season, even if really, Will brings it to the table and Jumpy Jaws brings it on himself, I being guilty of my own begging the question? Didn’t think so.

I don’t even want to THINK of the juvenile possibilities

Jumpy Jaws pours some alum in Dudley Dooright’s Gatorade and The Dudster can’t call the plays because he has no voice. Then Jumpy Jaws hands the ball to Charlie Roh for a 1-yard plunge and Chet Ballard puts his arm around The Jumpster after the game and asks “Where the Hell you been all season?” Hey, so what if all he had to do is stick a Holiday Inn towel up Charlie’s rear e-, I mean, hand the ball on a silver platter to Mr. Roh? And we can engineer Chet’s comeback. Like, for example, do community service, say, 80 hours mulching Dr. Pearl’s backyard. And send Dudley Dooright off to Canada where he can be a Mountie. Hugh McLennan, the noted Canadian author, might not like the Canada stereotype but Gil has been stereotyped a venerable leader for 60 years. One problem at a time.

Or we can tweak this one. Instead of alum, Jumpy Jaws can stick some Ex-Lax in Dudley Dooright’s pizza when the latter is busy paying the school cafeteria lady. Coach Thorp, tired of his trips to the stadium toilet seats, puts in Jumpy Jaws who proceeds to throw a pick-six, the fans yelling “Bad strategy, Thorp!!!!!!!!!!!!!” By then, Charlie Roh fetches some Pepto-Bismol out of his gym bag and pours some in a water bottle for Dudley Doo to suck out of. Ol’ Dudley has his stomach lined up with the stars, he throws 7 TD passes for a 55-6 pasting of the opponent, Jumpy Jaws gets his ass thumped in the parking lot by Chet Ballard, we move on. Possible.

Or maybe there’ll be no more stupid in-fighting and we won’t have to worry about players sniping at each other, Gil will get no more inane questions even though his playbook and general coaching is a reductio ad absurdum for the ages, and Dudley Dooright will still head to Canada to become a mountie. I don’t think I need to spell out the one that’ll actually happen.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Judge Ito Throws Out Key Piece Of Evidence In Coach Thorp’s Spouse Abuse Case!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Judge Ito: ‘Cochran from the prosecution tried to frame Mr. Thorp with those whips and chains from Milford Adult Shoppe but it was circumstantial evidence. Not only was it discovered in a K-Mart bag in his garage but the receipt didn’t match his Visa Gold number.”

And doncha just love this nature walk while ripping up your nemesis up one side and down the other? Well, I’ll give Thorpiverse coo’ points (Remember ya, Stuart Scott) for the best artistry in quite some time. Bushes that amazingly look like bushes, not the mashed potatoes that come out of the Bob Evans tub and fences that look like fences, not those bobsled jobs that you would use if you tuened them horizontal in the Milford ’24 Winter Olympics. And the trees in the background nicely grace the landscape. For once, a catalpa is not riding piggyback on a sugar maple.

So this examplar of verdant esthetics gets marred by Coach Thorp’s insisting he never beat Mimi in the first place? Okay, Coach, Marty jumped the gun but can we do our arguing in the Nature Center parking lot, not the Appalachian Trail?

Recently, the NCAA, in response to the forest fires out in the west, advised its institutions to practice sensible and prudent guidelines in response to the situation. Now I think they have done reasonably well in relation to the COVID-19 pandemic. Still, with my living close to Bloomington, Indiana, which is near Hoosier National Forest or Lexington, Kentucky, which is near Daniel Boone National Forest, it is hard for me to believe a raging blaze from either neck of the woods is going to engulf Assembly Hall or Rupp Arena, respectively.

And Gil shouldn’t be fanning the flames even if Marty has been a thorn in Gil’s side. I’d hate to see the Milford High School gym burn to the ground. I’d hate to see whether Milford is burning while they’re arguing over the Cubs’ pennant chances (gotcha, Robmize) .

At Milford Community College

“Do you have the volleyball court boarded up? I heard it’s a 3-alarm blaze at Milford Fish & Wildlife Area.”

“Nailing in the last set of brads even as I speak.”

It is with deep sadness that I announce the death of Ron “Kool” Bell of Kool & the Gang. He and his brother, Robert Bell, were instrumental in keeping the group hip-hopping with their catchy Hip-Hop style. Disdaining the word “disco”, which they really weren’t, they influenced the music scene and set trends along the way. “Celebrate” was their trademark hit, hitting #1 easily on the Billboard charts. They also scored with “Ladies Night”, “Jungle Boogie”, “Tonight”, “Fresh”, and “Cherish”. They got the whole world dancing to a nifty beat and the world had fun along the way. Please join me in saluting a man who was instrumental in making the world a better place through music. You got my respect, Kool. RIP

And in P2, Gil is mad as Hell and not gonna take anymore. Fair enough. But who the HELL recorded this? And why? Was there a camera behind the bushes?

“Gil, you couldn’t coach out of a doggie bag at The Diner. Why didn’t you put Knappe in as QB? Just because he buttered his Wonder Bread the wrong way? Your strategy matches that of Tinkertoys. And Mimi needs to replace the Saran Wrap on her head with aluminum foil. They may call her The Tin Man but she’d still have better-looking her than you. And coach better.”


Allen Funt comes out of the catalpa-sur-le-sugar-maple

“Smmmmmiiiiiiillllllleeeeeeee, you’re on Candid Camera!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Coach, you were wonderful. We had him going, didn’t we, members of the studio audience? Marty didn’t mean half that stuff.”

“Don’t press your luck, Mr. Funt.”

“Laugh” sign flashes on

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, that Marty, he’s a riot. We were telling knock-knock jokes, ladies and gentlemen, before we set up the cameras here and he had me rolling in the grass.”

Yes, next time you hike the Milford Trails Network, be sure to look around. You never know when that camcorder might be shooting out of the trees when you think a red squirrel is feasting on acorns.

“Maureen, did True ever make the Tampa practice squad when you were pumping that baseball scout for information literally and figuratively behind the pie rack at The Diner? And did you special-order some sandpaper for your shagbark hickory lines on your visage?”

Hey, it’s not begging the question if the premise is true, no matter how much I’m presuming.

Whoa Hoss, Mimi. And just when I patted T-Verse on the back for trees such as the one overhanging couple #2 on The Newleyweds, a Tigris Milfordensis Poplarum, I had to go right around and give T-Verse a size 12 Dickie Boots kick in the rumpus for Mimi’s remark.

LESS PATIENT??????????? When has Gil EVER been MORE patient with The Snake With The Scoop? Us T-Verse veterans have never seen Gil and Marty at a church picnic talking over 1st Corinthians 13, the Love chapter. Yeah, though I speak with the tongues of angels and perform miracles and wonders and have not love, I am Marty Moon at a Milford Mudlark Baseball game when the concession stand ran out of cheeseburgers and Cracker Jack and the ‘Larks are getting an ass-whupping by Tilden that I have to broadcast in the rain and I forgot to bring a poncho.

Being less patient with Marty is like saying Hell isn’t as hot as after the Glacial Period arrived by the Grace of God.

“Dr. Pearl, do you like your hair after you quit using Beaver Cleaver as your hairdresser?”

Hey, it could’ve happened. You’ve heard of the Miracle Mets, right?

And I will look in my Webster’s Third International Dictionary for the word “snippy”. I need to strengthen my vocabulary.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Keri. We like country-line dancing at the nudist camp.”

“Young man, your attempts to rationalize your behavior are admirable but snippy. You will still have to serve your suspension for ordering Nick’s Pizza in Mr. Rooney’s class. I’ve already talked with Mr. Spicoli and his response was snippy as well.”

At The Bucket, the manager in the men’s room with a teenage flunky

“Okay, Freddy, somebody shot for the moon and left a lot on the floor. Left the tiles all snippy. I want as much Pine-Sol as you can get dumped everywhere and spray with Lysol. The Snippy-Sized spray cans should be under the sink.”

Look, I gotta try new words on for size. Use them or lose them.

“And we’ll be back for another Nature Study With Coach Thorp-Ferreting Out Hummingbirds In Mimi’s Birdbath after these messages. You’re watching WDIG-TV.”

In the fallout shelter in Coach Shaw’s backyard at 2:21AM

KNOCK!!!!!!!!! KNOCK!!!!!!!!! KNOCK!!!!!!!!!

“Honnnnnnnneeeyyyyyyyy, I’m horny!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Why are you underground like that?”

“Damn, Woman, How’d you know I was here?”

“There’s a trail of toilet paper you left behind.”

“Shit!!!!!!!!! That’s one less roll I’ll have for the next two weeks!!!!!!! Thank goodness I still have 268 rolls in the pantry.”

“Darling, there’s no reason for you to be down there. Now open de widdle door so we can go to beddie bye and I can give you something softer than Charmin.”

“NO WAY!!!!!!!!!!!!! I heard the trailhead at Milford Municipal Forest Preserve was consumed with a forest fire bigger than Armageddon!!!!!!!!! I need to protect myself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Honey, the Forest Preserve is on the other side of town.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. These pyromaniacs lull you into a false sense of security and next thing you know BOOM, your house was engulfed innflames by a meteor that you thought was near the Pegasus constellation. That’s why the Federals lost the First Battle of Bull Run. Everybody was picnicking when the Confederates were believed to be at Miami Beach.”

“And what are you doing for food?”

“Oh, Lordy, let me count the ways. I have plenty of Nick’s Pizza that I ordered and he delivered about 15 minutes ago. And I have plenty of Hungry Man TV Dinners. Mmmmmmm, mmm, I’m throwing a Buffalo-Style Meat Loaf with Mashed Potatoes in the microwave. Shoot, the brownie’s so wimpy, I fed it to the gerbils. Gotta keep my macho image.”

“Which is fading away when I’m not down there.”

“Hey, I can always make it up with a bowl of Wheaties. No better way to keep your mojo in order than with eating right out of a box with Gil on the cover or Fruit Loops. I got 56 boxes of those. And 27 boxes of Cream of Wheat. Man, that’s better than testosterone. And 98 boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. Oh, and 31 Klondike Bars. The dessert of all erections. Darn, I should have remembered to get some Ramen Noodles before I shut the lid.”

“If I go to the Neighborhood Market and get a couple of boxess, can we call a truce?”

“I had to open the door. Especially when I found out from CNN on my auxiliary TV that the fire had been contained in 10 minutes. I have a lot of toilet paper to use until the end of the decade. But I was hungry for more than Ramen Noodles and when I took my Ramen sex life to Milford Men’s Clinic, I got plenty of Manwiches in return. And we’ve been spicing it up ever since. I gave away the Fruit Loops to Milford Food Pantry. Don’t you want to eat your Wheaties? Sure you do. Come down to get your own photo on the Wheaties box after your energy kicked in and started your fire. No fire extinguisher can put this one out. Only at Milford Men’s Clinic.

I’m not begging the question, Gang. You know me better than that. Gil really is a lousy coach.

God bless you, Gang.

Dr. Pearl leaves her sanctuary and sees life for the first time. She enters the first room after her eyes get adjusted to the lights.

It’s Ms. Rizk editing a student cub reporter’s Milford High School Future Farmers of America report

“Ms. Rizk.”

“Dr. Pearl.”

“Have you stopped wasting your time reviewing the Milford Bugle, especially those Milford Sanitary Solutions, Inc. ads and those reports about teenagers TP’ing Coach Thorp’s yard and those catalpas-sur-le-sugar-maples by the football field? Some parents have been complaining.”


Honesty when we are begging the question. There’s light at the end of the tunnel.




I snippy, therefore I am

And Descartes subsequently invented the x-y graph.

September 9, 2020

Spirits Among Us

Filed under: football, Gil Thorp, Marty Moon, Milford Idiots — teenchy @ 10:09 am

Oh look who’s finally popped his head in at Milford High. Where the hell was Marty when all that ridiculousness was going down in Milford last spring? Drying out in rehab somewhere? You just know he would have run with that whole “the mayor” situation like a kid with a pair of scissors. Either he would’ve been anti-zero-tolerance and given Gil hell for not sticking up for Mike Knappe or pro-zero-tolerance and given Gil hell for not drilling the zero-tolerance message into Mike before the butter knife incident. He would’ve had a field day with the Milford v. Valley Modified “scrimmage,” too – how it made a mockery of high school sports, exposing the Mudlarks to potential injury in a game that didn’t count; how it mocked, patronized and denigrated the Valley Mod kids all at once; and how it was even allowed to be scheduled in the first place. Finally he would’ve had something to say about the Knappe kid getting his admission revoked by State and magically reinstated via Thorpian sleight-of-hand.

Instead Marty now shows up in time for Mouseketeer Roll Call and one step ahead of Marjie Ducey, who must’ve clued him in about those freebie sloppy joes that get handed out during the preseason. He’s used his keen powers of observation to deduce that there’s a competition at quarterback between two guys who (as astute TWIMer Jive Turkey observed this past weekend) would probably get fragged if they were military officers in combat. Marty and Gil share a Milky Way bar an interest in getting blitzed themselves, hence their mutual dropping of the code word “spirited*” in conversation. After practice, they’ll go their separate ways to tie one on: Gil to the MCC or home to the company of Mimi, Marty to the end of the bar at Barney’s Pub or back home, in either case alone.

* It came to my attention after composing this post that the title, which I thought was a common phrase, is also the title of a movie, the plot of which is best described as “Christian paranormal thriller.”

September 8, 2020

Sorry, Charles, But You Have An Arm Like Starkist Tuna.

Filed under: Gil Thorp — tdrewhardin @ 10:28 am

Aren’t you excited to get started with another in-house rivalry that’ll drag on until Christmas? And notice I didn’t give the year. Yup, it might not end at Yuletide in 2020. Us Thorpiverse veterans are used to the Berrill years where they kissed and made up by the time Gil gave his sermon on December 25th, y’know, he’s cussing out a player who missed a screen, then turning towards the camera for his Our Daily Bread Seasons Greetings with wreath circling around the panel which might turn into a noose if he doesn’t start showing up for practice. I mean, the Milford Country Club Lounge DOES close at night, we assume. No reason not to get a good night’s rest and see how his troops are performing. BTW, he never closed his homilies with “Watch your language. Santa is keeping score” because he was getting an annual delivery of coal in his stocking on that account. Practice what you preach, Coach. And speaking of practice, have you been to one lately? Because it appears Tarzan of the Jungle (with apologies to Teenchy) is running the show.

Really, Coach, when you went to the School Board meeting to get hired as the coach, no member of the School Board anticipated your permanent residence at Milford Lounge. That’s right, Coach, you habe to check in every once in a while to see if they’ve made any improvements. Started to gell as a team. You won’t see any “I” in the word “Team” singing karaoke at the Lounge. Straining to sing “Afternoon Delight” while the gears are starting to mesh might still be singing but it is nowhere near the leadership the School Board President had in mind.

And then we gotta deal with these 2 clowns who have been evidently at each other’s throats since 1st grade when they tried to cut in line on each other at the Milford Elementary cafeteria. The prize was a brownie but now the stakes are higher. Archway Cookies and a chance to be the starting QB. Isn’t that something to shoot for? Raspberry Rumble and some bragging rights? Where’s a helmet? And darn, WHERE’S GIL!!!!!!!!

When The Rolling Stones did a charity visit for a 15-year-old who had weeks to live from a rare disease, they put on their best front. But when the kid was asked what his last wish was, the kid responded

“I want to party like y’all”

Well, say no more, said the Stones. They wheeled in the best wines and beer, brought in a couple of loose women, piped in their music over the intercom. The hospital got a nice bribe (Hey, you know The Stones had the money) so it naturally accomodated. The kid had a night to remember.

Today’s headline in the Milford Enquirer

“Gil Called To Question On Ethics Probe After Last Saturday At Milford Bowling Lounge Happy Hour!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

sub headline

“Just because I was trying to boogie to ‘Brown Sugar’ with Marianne Faithfull? I’ve done worse when I was recruiting linebackers.”

Gang, I’m no artist as I have bitched about several times in the past, my niece is the Van Gogh in the family (ha) , but there’s a huge difference between what I accept for football pants and the attire that passes for the Jethro Tull-Thick as a Brick Revisited Tour currently making a stop at Milford Outdoor Amphitheate taking a detour at football practice. As long as we intend to watch two teenagers at each other’s throats for the last Twinkie and a starting spot as the varsity QB, I’m really not thrilled envisioning the storybook characters that Gentle Giant used to sing about. When I want football, do as the Romans do and wear football pants when you’re at The Colosseum getting thrown to the lions and when I want Peter Pan, I’ll look in the Milford Public Library under J. M. Barrie. I think the fiction section is by the water fountain where Gil is sleeping on a bean bag chair. The library couldn’t have picked a better place to situate its fiction section.

At the Gentle Giant audition in Milford Concert Hall

Gil-“…and the knights knocked the Tilden 11-“

Kaz-“-on its ass with a lance and a sword-“

Dr. Pearl-“for the king and bragging rights for another month-“

Steve Luhm-“they were noble in victory and Prince Charles Rapp-“

Coach Shaw-“won the hand of Princess Corina who was in jail for bombing The Bucket-“

Mrs. Shaw-“and she did no more bitching, then gorged on peach cobbler at The Diner and the players went back to practice, the coaches put the swords and lances back in the equipment shed and Gil went back to the Milford Bowling Alley Snack Barrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh, yeah. Well, it has possibilities. Let us think about it. We’ll call by the end of the week. Thanks for your time.”

And I’m guessing, more than likely correctly, that a Boy Named Rapp is “Sorry” Charlie Rapson who figures to run his mouth the next few months. I could wake up the next day and hope he kneeled at the Billy Graham Crusade and gave his life to Jesus and the starting spot to Will Thayer but apparently Thorpiverse has no intentions of publishing Gil Thorp Christian Comics. Gil would have to permanently stay out of the Milford Bowling Alley Snack Bar was the hitch, the way I hear it.

So we will unfortunaly endure Mighty Mouth for about the same time it takes for the tree-breeding program in the background sponsored by the Milford Community College Botany Department to come to fruition. I understand we ought to see little sugar maples running around in diapers by the end of November.

Dr. Pearl in the office listening to the Stones’ “Tattoo You”

“…don’t wanna be your slave

Don’t wanna be your slave…”

“I DON’T wanna be your slave, Dr. Pearl. There was nothing in the contract that says I couldn’t use my personal days for the Homecoming game.”

He seems to be completely unreceptive

The plays he runs make no sense at all

His eyes react to nought, the fans detect it

He hears but will not answer to the call

“See me, leave me, shed me, don’t touch me…”

And P2 is getting the trash talk in full swing after a sneak preview, with people nipping at each other, leaving the TWIMers understandably in the dark and having to piece together a gigantic skeleton, one bone at a time but like assembly-lining that bag of bones you stole from the mausoleum at Milford Rest Haven, is either one really worth putting together and viewing the whole by snapping on parts one part at a time? Because either one is going to get ugly before the month’s over. At least you can stick Jolly Roger in his Adult Stage back in the closet.

And we are getting the message that these 2 gentlemen don’t like each other although, judging by the garbage A Boy Named Sue is dishing out, Sue is pretty much bringing this on himself. Yes, it ain’t trash if you can back it up, but just because Gil is still wining and dining at Milford Country Club doesn’t mean you can talk the talk and not have to look in the parking lot to see if Gil is going to get out of his golf cart and make you walk the walk. Sue Rapson, if you keep pumping your jaws, the only walking you’ll be doing will be in the runway to the locker room after Will Thayer showed up to play and quit worrying whether Gil took another sick day. You play the way you practice, Jaws.

And quit using your abdomen to receive oral messages. You flap your jaws and your duodenum TOO???? Talk about room for improvement.

At the prison where Papa Bader is taking up permanent residence, especially after The Rolling Stones left him a bottle of chardonnay ’67 (Was a very good year-Bader taught Brian Jones how to play the which Jones later played on “Ride on, Baby”)

“…I shouted out who killed the Kennedys

When after all, it was you and me…”


And I get this sick gut feeling Corina the Cancer is going to get in the mix of all this garbage accumulation. Sure, let’s pile it on by having two boys duke it out on the playground for a Joe Sclabotnick-autographed baseball bat, then have Ms. Cancer intervene and tell them she could QB the team better than these clowns when she’s not spiking Mimi’s head. I’m just full of plot ideas, aren’t I? Then when basketball rolls around and those 2 Bozos are still jawing with each other, she can add basketball to her resume and knock their heads together in the cafeteria, leading to one gargantuous food fight and say she took a cue from Alexa Watson on how to be more aggressive. Both Charlie and Will will wind up with stitches in the hospital, Ms. Cancer will win MVP and everybody by then OUGHT TO SHUT UP.

Then again, Corina might bomb Cindy Brady’s sack lunch and Corina gets expelled and winds up back at Valley Alternative. Consequently, Will and Charles will still be vying for the QB position at Thanksgiving. We’re back to square one. Plan B is somewhere on the children’s menu at The Diner.

There is no chance, no player evaluation

All hope lies with the team and none with Gil

Imagine though if there were stimulation

Needed to improve his coaching will

“See me, leave me, shed me, don’t touch me…”

And in P3, we are seeing why Runny Mouth Rapson should sit down. And why should we be surprised? Thorpiverse was sneaking this weasel up on us, using Corina the Cancer as a decoy. Good strategy, T-verse. Watch Goodyear Head and Cindy Brady hit C the C with an innocent question, hoping you can distract us and Mighty Mouth eventually become an element of surprise. You really faked us out of our boxer shorts, T-verse. I would have never guessed that after Corina took the Greyhound hallway home that Mighty Mouth was not all that, that he talked more than he delivered, in fact, Nick’s Pizza delivered more at practice than he did. We just put 2 + 2 together and came up with 5 after he started talking smack when donning his helmet on his watermelon brain, thinking that he was going to take responsiblity and get better after learning that his arch-nemesis had been pumping some iron, even when the trash talk was free-flowing. He might have come to his senses. But then Thorpiverse would still be stuck with Corina and her inabilty to dig a volleyball. For 3 months???? Keep talking trash, Mighty Mouth. It’s interesting, if nothing else.

“…she’s so respectable

She’s so respectable

She’s so delectable

She’s so respectable

Get out of my life…”

“Gil, would you change the Rolling Stones record to side B? I’m so pooped from all this aerobicizing.”

“Here, boy, here, boy, get the stick.”

Oh, that’s a football. And the hapless loser is getting overthrown because Mighty Mouse is doing more talking than worrying about his accuracy throwing UFO’s. And of course, Will Thayer will throw an 80-yard bomb on a dime and win the quarterback job. We know how this goes, T-verse. Nobody throws a football in the burning trash bin if people like Will want to be the knight in shining armor. And alter the script? Mighty Mouth is really an alto in the Vienna Boys Choir who just overthrew Joe Towelbutt because he didn’t eat his Wheaties? Nah, better get Will some practice and do justice to people who let the scoreboard do the talking e.g. Will Who Walks. We’ll just revert back to Corina the Cancer who can work with Cindy Brady on their digging game and bash Goodyear Head and Mimi because they frequent the same stylist while Will gets his shit together and acts like a hero by practicing so that he can throw like one. Right through the tire, Hero.



I often wonder what Gil is thinking

Has he ever heard what the team has said

Look at him on a barstool, drinking

What is happening in his head?

We wish we knew

“We’ll back for the conclusion of ‘Gil’s Holiday Camp’ after these messages. This is WDIG in cooperation with NPR Radio who is kind enough to present this masterpiece. Funding for this program is brought to you by a grant from Milford Foundry and Gil Thorp Pure Pork Sausage.”

“Honnnnnnnneeeeeyyyyyyyyy, open up!!!!!!!!!!! I know you’re there in the den!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I’m horrrrrnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“I can’t right now, Mrs. Shaw. I’m partying with the Bad Boys of Rock ‘n’ Roll, The Rolling Stones.”

“Honey, I don’t see any cars or busses out front.”

“Blubba, blubba, they all rode in an Uber over here. Shoot, they got the money. And the way they tip, the driver oughta be able to pay off his alimony and his mortgage on his house.”

“They all rode in one small car?”

“Woman, sometimes you overthink. Keith Richards rode with the luggage on top because nobody else wanted to inhale those nasty cigarettes he smokes.”

“And I don’t hear any sound.”

“That’s because we all got our earphones on playin’ High Tides and Green Grass. And after we get done playing “The Last Time” the last time, we’ll be chillin’ on Charlie Watts’ Jazz collection, one disc at a time. I can’t wait until I jam to “Relaxin’ at Camarillo” on my earphones.”

“I’m thinking this will take all night.”


“Why would they come to our house anyway?”

“Oh My Tumblin’ Dice, well, uh, uh, uh, they saw I was overworked as a part-time rent-an-assistant-coach for Gil and they took pity and said I needed to loosen up. So they ordered some Ruffino, some Beefeater, some Korbel Brut, some La Marca Prosecco di La Rosa Con Brio, all from Milford Beverage Warehouse. Apparently they have a running account. Oh, and some Grape Nehi for Faithfull. She gets thirsty after some hot sex.”

“Darling, there’s an orgy in there?”

“Trust me, I’m an innocent bystander. I’m just jammin’ on ‘Where The Boys Go’.”


“She had me there. I had to come clean and open the door. The only Stones I had was my lapidary collection. It was embarrssing to admit that a chalcedony was harder than me. But the good news is that Milford Men’s Clinic has programs that work that help when you need some love to make you happy. And me and my wife have been happy the last couple of weeks. Come get happier than Mick Jagger singing “Waiting on a Friend” and get your record collection on par with your erection. Only at The Clinic.”

“No, Gang, No. Mr. Towelbutt does not need Preparation H. Maybe a little more speed to catch up with that overthrow but I’m drawing the line there.

God bless you, Gang.

Keri comes home from kindergarten

“Mommy, we didn’t sing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’. Some bunch of men that said they were rolling stones led us in a song. They called it ‘Sweet Virginia’.”

She sings “Come on down, Sweet Virginiaaaaaa, uh huh

Got to scrape that shit right off your shoes.

“I wonder what they meant.”

Mimi struggling for an answer during Quality Time

“Uh, well, you know, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Now go walk the dog.”

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