Archie (Vol. 1), Issue #242

Welcome to Archieness & Riverdalers Presents: Archie (Vol. 1), Issue #242!

Archie (Vol. 1) , Issue #242 [August, 1975]

”Barrel of Fun”

Archie and the Gang are out in the middle of the -55°F cold enjoying a lovely ice-skating outing. Reggie leaps over barrels in a single bound, which is not anything I’ve ever heard of before. Jumping over barrels while ice skating? What is this, the most Russian parts of Russia? “Isn’t he beautiful?” Veronica says to a sour Archie. “Reggie, you’re beautiful! Archie, didn’t I tell you Reggie was beautiful?? What he is, is beautiful!”

Archie shits his pants in defiance, immediately creating a turd popsicle.

When Reggie comes over, Veronica calls him fantastic. Reggie agrees! Archie is about to tell Reggie to fuck off when Veronica gets swept in Reggie’s arms. “Would you like to learn some of the basic elements of fancy skating?” Reggie asks her, fully intending to do some on-ice penetration. Veronica would be thrilled! Archie is left in the dust. The ice dust, that is.

Jughead arrives smilingly in his itchy-looking scarf and asks what Archie’s deal is. Archie takes another huge shit. “GRRRR! That Reggie!” he says. “He jumps barrels and Ron goes bananas!” Jughead tells him that barrel-jumping is a fool’s errand, and Archie’s better off without Veronica if she’s going to go ga-ga over some of that weak shit.

But then Archie arches his Archie eyebrows archily. “I am going to learn how to jump over barrels!” he declares, fully aware that this is Issue #242 and the writers are running out of ideas. “Reggie jumps two barrels – I am going to jump three barrels!” He lifts up four fingers. Jughead is already tired of this blabber and skates away, but Archie reins him back in to help set up the barrels.

Make sure they’re full of sweet, sweet barrel-aged bourbon so we can celebrate victory afterward!

Jughead holds up a string per Archie’s instructions, and Archie clears it with a long, graceful jump. “Look at that!” he gesticulates wildly. “Cleared it by the width of two barrels! Just like Reggie!” The excitement is too much for Jughead, who yawns visibly and tells Archie that he’ll be sorry if he tries this little stunt. Archie’s going to break his butt and no one is going to help him as he moans on the ice.

After a few more practice tries, Archie is ready to leap the width of three – count ‘em THREE – barrels! And the rotten little ginger clears the landing! “Bring on the barrels!” Archie yells. Jughead continues to tell his wretched friend to fucking forget it! This is lunacy!

Reggie is beside himself as Jughead lines up the barrels. “You’ll outjump me?” he says incredulously. Yes, that’s right, Reggie. Archie wants to get his dick wet and the only recourse is leaping over some barrels. Pay attention!

“Hah! He’ll kill himself!” Reggie doubles over laughing with glee. Veronica looks stunned with worry. Jughead continues to talk Archie out of it, but he will hear none of it!

Moose arrives, and ever the friendly lunkhead, he mistakes Jughead’s task as merely collecting barrels and takes it upon himself to line up a fourth one for him. “I got another here!” he says dumbly. “How many did Arch want?”

Jughead is so surprised that his crown flies off his head.

Archie crashes as he leaps the barrels, gets a concussion, and dies in the hospital.

”The Great Who”

Archie stares at a very loud and ugly outfit in a shop display window. “That’s for me, Jug! — The ‘Gatsby look!’”

Jughead holds his nose as if someone sliced Archie with a katana and all his stinky innards have spilled out on the ground. “That look is in!” Archie argues. “The gals really go for it!”

“The gals go for Reggie, too!” Jughead responds with an air of haughtiness, as per usual. Well fuck you very much, Juggie. Archie’s going to go in there and buy the outfit anyway so he can get some of that good pussy.

Bring me your finest clown suit, my good man!

After Jughead insults the well-dressed fancyman, they fight back and forth for about seven panels, Archie butts in with his intentions: “I want to wear the Gatsby look!” he declares proudly. “You’re kidding!” responds the clerk, which prompts Jughead to start raggin’ on him again. Archie pulls out about 18 boxes. “I want to try it all on at once – get the total effect!”

“Would you like to go into the dressing room with your friend?” the clerk asks smugly.

“Not particularly!” Jughead responds smugly.

“Well then,” the clerk says as he shoves Jughead, “would you mind standing behind that rack so you can’t be seen from the street?”

A man suddenly comes in asking for a pirate costume. You see, the man mistook the store for a costume shop after seeing Jughead’s dumbass crown. This really steams Jughead up! But before he has a chance to retaliate in kind, Archie comes out of the dressing room looking like some king of Ivy League dogshit. “TA-DA!” he says, presenting what looks like clothes for a 5am golf outing. “This is me, Jug! I mean, this is the real me!!”

The clerk hands him a bill that says seventy bajillion dollars. Archie can’t even afford a kick in the dick, but now Jughead is motivated to purchase the outfit.

MMMPHEE!

After the clerk laughs at Jughead’s stupid clothes, he calls over his associate to get a load of this kid. “Oh, that’s priceless!” laughs his buddy Manny. “I wish I had a camera!” cheers the clerk. Jughead is completely unphased. “I’m delighted! I’ll wear it! Throw my old clothes away!”

“Spiffy! That’s how I look! Spiffy!” Jughead continues, causing both clerks to share fallen faces. “Everybody will ask! ‘Manny’s Men’s Shop’ I’ll tell ‘em! ‘You too can look like this!’ Manny’s Men’s Shop! I got this at Manny’s Men’s Shop!

Manny and the other nameless rat-faced fuck look at each other with complete horror. Next thing we know, Archie leaves the store with new clothes. They cut the price in half because Jughead scared the shit out of them! What a shrewd motherfucker. That’s what they’ll say! They’ll all say “That Jughead Jones is a shrewd motherfucker!” Then they’ll drown themselves in a barrel of water.

”Let It All Hang Out”

Archie makes a “buhhhh” face as he overhears his fat mother and bald father say things like “wigged out” and “hang in there” and “get your head on straight” and “far out!” He’s so fucking shocked that he has to leave the house and goosestep down the street. “That couldn’t be my mom and pop! — No way! — Parents don’t talk like that!”

Betty comes running to Archie out on the street, claiming that her father told her mother that the coffee “turned him on” and not in a sexy way! I guess in a 1975 way. And now Veronica’s coming own shrieking that her own father said he “didn’t know who he was”. It’s a veritable epidemic of the Silent Generation saying things not silently, but rather loudly. Things that are freaking out their Boomer kids.

Don’t you dare ask me to level with you, young man! Get your head on straight!

At least school is a safe haven from all the jive talk! The kids say hello to Mr. Weatherbee, who tells them to get turned on to English today and get their heads on straight, which makes Archie mad it does! Weatherbee fesses up the goods: “It was our distinguished speaker at the PTA meeting last night! — The eminent psychologist, Dr. Branewosch!”

Ah, well that explains everth—WAIT A MINUTE!

“He told us all that we should be ‘one’ with you kids!” Weatherbee declares happily, arms stretched out and everything. “Follow your fads! Dress, speech, activities! It makes for more togetherness!”

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Fuck no! If this keeps up, the kids are blowing their respective popsicle stands! In fact, it’s high time they start protesting now by avoiding class and going to the Medical Arts Building! Weatherbee panics, pees his pants a little bit, and grabs the phone in his office. “Good Lord! I’d better call their parents!”

Next thing you know, Archie, Betty, and Veronica are holding up protest signs! “Quack! Quack!” says one. “Doctor Branewosch is a dingaling!” says another. “Youth is for the young!” says a third. Their fathers stand by the street yelling at them, turning purple with rage and it ain’t fly, Jack.

“BACK TO SCHOOL, YOU CRAZY KID!”

“DON’T EVER DO A FOOL THING LIKE THAT AGAIN!”

“WE COULD BE SUED FOR SLANDER!”

Archie and the girls start running, grinning all the way. “Now that sounds like parents should sound!”

Veronica laughs as she gets chased down the street by her homicidal father. “Right on!” she says before getting gunned down in cold blood.

”Slip Up”

Archie stares out the living room window at the frigid tundra that has become their front yard. “Sidewalk needs shoveling, Archie!” Dad says with the patented raised eyebrows of someone who is expecting their useless kid to do a single goddamned thing around the house. “Too dangerous, Pop!” Archie argues. Typical fucking teenagers.

Dad stabs a pointy finger at Archie’s chest and tells him to get a move on. Archie continues to argue, this time about the dangers of slippery, wet ice! Dad has the furrowed eyebrows of someone who is expecting their useless kid to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. Archie then pretends to be a little old lady who slips and cracks her noggin on the sidewalk. “BAM! CRASH! SNAP! Maimed and broken they lie in the cold!”

I’ll send you to Vietnam, by god. Don’t make me call the President on you!

At this point, Dad is ready to start gouging out eyeballs. “GO!” he screams. Within four milliseconds, Archie has his coat and shovel and he’s raring to go! And just as soon as he leaves the front door, he returns in the house and clomps up the stairs with wet boots. He comes back down with golf shoes, for the ice you see. Dad is ready to fuck Archie’s butt shut. “Even strong young bones like mine can be broken!” he claims while Dad pulls his pud in furious anger. “GO!” he screams.

After about seven hours, Archie is finally almost done shoveling the driveway. Dad can finally head outside and SLIP! WHOOPS! EEP! ACK! YIPE! EEEEYOW! ZOOM! WHAM! Dead.

“I warned you!” Archie says, panicked like he’s going to get his Xbox thrown in the garbage. “But you insisted! Now you want me to shovel it back” he cries incredulously.

And yes, shovel the snow back, you idgit. Or else Dad’s going to launch you into the sun with his steel-toed boot, son.

Archie is locked in his room until he dies of starvation, strapped to a chair with little to no visual or audio stimulation for days. No one is sad.