Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608 – “Chapter 1: The Ransom”

* Part 1 of 12 of the Hush storyline *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608 – “Chapter 1: The Ransom”! I heard that this is one of the best Batman stories you can find in comic books. So good, in fact, that it should be a crime that it took me this long to get to it. What am I, an idiot?

Well, let’s not dilly-dally any longer!

Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608 [December, 2002]
Written by: Jeph Loeb
“Chapter 1: The Ransom”

Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608

Gotham City shipyard, just shy of midnight. Batman has one minute and thirteen seconds left to find the hostage or else it’s hella curtains. “The F.B.I. and D.E.O. cut the power,” Batman thinks. “That will either make my job harder or easier. I’ll know in the next few seconds.”

Batman uses his Super Scope of Endless Information to gather intel on a few grunts in the warehouse. I won’t bother naming them; they have names like “Carlos” and “Spider” and Batman takes them all out with immaculate ease!

“I have to make it clear to Hancock that I do not have time for a long discussion,” he continues thinking. Batman thinks a lot. That’s part of his problem. “Where is the boy?” That one he said out loud to a guy he wrapped up in cord and hung upside-down. The guy swears he doesn’t know, but Batman doesn’t have time for “doesn’t knows”. “You’re lying,” Batman says astutely.

“Fear is an excellent motivator,” he thinks (again) as he reaches for the guy’s face with his hands. I guess the guy gave up the goods, because in the next panel Batman finds a hunched-over crying kid locked in a room that looks like it’s closed with a submarine door. Batman blows it open, killing the kid inside instant and ending the issue.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Batman says to the actually-not-dead kid. The kid has giant glasses and he looks like Jonathan Lipnicki circa 1996. “Y-You’re… Batman,” he says dumbly.

There are only 37 seconds left. Batman notices that the boy is not much older than Bruce was when his parents got shot and killed and died forever. “It makes me think about Clark and how he’d handle the situation. Not just the bending steel and flying out. Clark could smile. That Boy Scout thing. And then say something homespun to put the boy at ease. But the boy doesn’t have Clark. He has me.”

And that’s quite sad, because Batman has the bedside manner of a prickly porcupine dunked in hydrofluoric acid.

This kid is Edward Lamont IV, heir to the Lamont chemical fortune. A subsidiary of LexCorp that created a substance that makes “napalm look like lipstick”. Little Edward was kidnapped by Killer Croc, and not a moment too soon! Speaking of the devil, Killer Croc has finally emerged all giant and going “ROARRR!” “You shouldn’t have come here,” he growls at Batman. “This doesn’t involve you.”

The ransom was for $10 million. The family, the police, the F.B.I., they all wanted to pay the ransom. Batman did not.

Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608

So help me god I will keep whaling on you with my special Samsonite briefcase!

Batman bleeds all over the place as Killer Croc punches him with onomatopeia like “BRAK”, making me think about Space Ghost. “I was off by eleven seconds,” Batman says, as if that would have made a world of fucking difference.

“I’M GONNA EAT YOU ALIVE,” shrieks Killer Croc. They keep fighting while Batman muses about Killer Croc’s modus operandi. For one thing, he’s not a kidnapper. He’s not smart enough to be a kidnapper. Someone else was involved here…

Batman remembers that Killer Croc has a vulnerability! Hypersonics! Batman faps a button-shaped device on Killer Croc’s neck and loads him up with vibrations, causing Killer Croc to howl with pain and agony. 1000 decibels! Dude, that would hurt anyone. Nothing special about that.

“YEAH!” yells Edward with joy. Batman tells the kid to stuff it.

Soon, the F.B.I. shows up fashionably late. “Not how we would have handled it–” says the sexy F.B.I. lady. “This is my city,” responds Batman. Like a pompous assjerk.

The Samsonite briefcase, containing all the dang money, disappeared during the fight. But that’s impossible! The F.B.I. had scoped the perimeter and decided that everything was nice and secure as the dickens. So what happened?

Doesn’t matter. Batman chalks this one up to “not my fucking problem” and Bat-grapples his way out of there yelling “CATWOMAN!” Ah, I see, he saw her in the distance and started chasing her. It would be funnier if Batman just fucked on out of there for no reason, but comics can’t be funny all the time.

“What took you so long?” she purrs as they swing across town. It is noticed that ripping off someone else’s ransom is not Catwoman’s style, but she did it anyway. Lots of stuff happening today that isn’t anyone’s style. “I have known Catwoman – Selina Kyle – for years. It seems like each step we take toward each other… we only get further apart.

Batman (Vol. 1), Issue #608

I guess comics can still be funny after all!

Anyway, something fishy is going on and it’s not just Catwoman’s cat food breath. Batman starts plummeting after someone cut the line on his Bat-rope. Catwoman looks behind her with hesitation and trepidation and other words that end in “ation”. Batman’s shoulder plows into a stone gargoyle on the way down, busting it all up. He crashes onto the street in a manner that would kill literally anything, but he’s pretty ok. Except for the street toughs descending upon him with knives. Oh well, that’s a story for another issue!

Because we end with Catwoman bringing the briefcase to her client.

“Any problems?” asks the unknown client.

“Batman.”

“And…?”

“He… couldn’t keep up.”

“You sound disappointed…”

“Would that matter?”

“Not really. As long as you have the money.”

It’s Poison Ivy.

Final Thoughts

That was short! Nothing much has happened yet to make me impressed with Hush, but the story is still young, isn’t it?

Poison Ivy needs to put on more clothes. Or less clothes. I haven’t decided yet.


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Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4 – “Song of the Drengir”

* Part 4 of 5 of the There Is No Fear storyline *

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4 – “Song of the Drengir”! In the previous installment, Keeve and a kid named Bartol discover a big, scary Drengir underground that appears to be permeating the population with dark side energy, and that includes an infiltration of Sskeer and Ceret! No one is safe!

Good thing Avar Kriss is there to put a stop to it, but she can only handle so much. How will these Jedi get out of this pickle? And where’s my Samana spiced loaf?!

Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4 [June, 2021]
Written by: Cavan Scott
“Song of the Drengir”

Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4

Six years ago on the mid-rim planet of Kirima, Sskeer is making Keeve leap across a giant chasm using only her legs and also oh yeah the Force. “You will not fall,” says Sskeer, like he fucking knows anything.

Well, look here Mr. Know-It-All-Jedi-”Master”, Keeve takes the leap and misses the other side by about 15 feet. “No,” she says with all the calmness of someone about to plunge to their untimely death. “AAAAH!” she then says. That’s more like it.

Just before she hits the ground, Sskeer uses his Jedi magic to stop her in mid-air and raise back up to the cliffside. He tells Keeve not to apologize for sucking, it’s all part of the training. “Now… ssshall we try again?” he hisses.

“He was my rock. My universe…” Keeve thinks as she finds herself hanging upside down and wrapped in very thick tree trunk-like vines. “How could it have gone so wrong?”

Sskeer walks up to a similarly-hanging-upside-down Avar Kriss and tells her that the Drengir must feed immediately! Kriss tries to reason with him even though he’s speaking in black speech balloons. Sskeer tells her to shut the fuck up, and he silences her with a creepy crawley vine over the mouth. “Avar Krissss. Always so convinced that the galaxy dances to your tune. You sssay you want to understand. You sssay you wissh to know. Then for once, you must truly listen… listen to the sssong of the Drengir.”

Now that the S key on my keyboard has been destroyed, we can witness the Drengir’s creepy crawley vines spread around the cave. Sskeer does a soliloquy about how the Drengir used to spread across the galaxy feasting on flesh, but “they” betrayed them. And soon “they” paid the price. “They” plotted against them. “They” trapped them in totems, forcing “her” to sleep. And the Drengir slept while “she” slept. The Great Progenitor. Now she awakes. And so do the Drengir. It’s a very circular soliloquy. I’m also asleep, as a result.

Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4

Maybe it’s just all the fat settling?

Meanwhile, on the Starlight Beacon, Archivist Orbalin makes progress on the dead Hutt autopsy. Turns out that he didn’t die from Nihil-related activity, nor Nagnol poisoning. Nor impaled through the butthole with a large novelty spike. It’s like it has been entirely infected with a virus of sorts. Veins full of stinky sludge. The rustling in the above panel is infestation…

Suddenly, whatever’s inside the Hutt cannot be contained any longer and the cadaver bursts open like a water balloon, spraying purple gunk everywhere with a sickening “SLLURK”. It looks like grape jelly but it probably tastes terrible, like raspberry jelly.

Back in the Drengir hole, Keeve now tries to talk some sense into her Jedi master. Sskeer is not a Drengir, you see. He’s just some lizard guy! Sskeer snaps out of it for the splittest of seconds before falling back into black speech balloons and insisting that the Drengir has “made him whole”.

Terec (or is it Ceret?) tells Keeve that she’s wasting her breath. It’s hopeless! Death and destruction await them all! Sweet, sweet oblivion!

Viny tendrils begin slithering their way into various face orifices of our hapless upside-down prisoners. With a struggled breath, Keeve implores her Master to fucking get a grip. “Whatever’s happened… whatever they’ve promised you… you don’t need to do this.”

Keeve’s magic words help, I guess, because Sskeer is like “ha ha, just kidding” and Forces a whole hunk of earth up into the air, startling the Drengir into letting the prisoners go. Kriss and Keeve see if Sskeer is ok after all that Forcin’, but there are more important matters. The Drengir still have Bartol. Remember him? I sure didn’t.

Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4

lol, Terec with his pulled-back fist. Go get us some coffee, nerd.

So they approach the Drengir holding the child and fight, fight, fight. Sskeer’s got an arm made out of vines, so he’s still captured by the essence of the Drengir and continues fighting it off. Since Keeve is a full-fledged Jedi Knight now, Sskeer and Kriss allow her to do the honors of flailing her lightsaber all willy-nilly and hacking off vines.

Elsewhere, Kal Sulman is punching these wimpy-looking aliens in the face because they blabbed to the high-and-mighty Jedi, and now the Jedi are all hell of such as getting involved in their lives on their planet. “And now you’re gonna pay the price,” Kal says, ready to tear some ass, until a boom comes from the door behind him.

It’s the high-and-mighty Avar Kriss and the equally high-and-mighty Sskeer. Confrontation time! Kal knew all along that the Drengir had taken root on the planet. This is why he didn’t want the Jedi snooping around. “Tell us the truth!” Sskeer yells, throwing the guy around a bit. Things are getting tense!

Maru calls Kriss from the Beacon. Starlight is under attack by a Drengir that forced its way out of the Hutt’s body. The Jedis’ puny lightsabers are no match for its smashing vines! Someone help them before they’re gobbled up, but good!

And if things were bad enough, in flies another damn species on their damn spaceships.

Star Wars: The High Republic (Vol. 1), Issue #4

Out of a spaceship comes a gaggle of Hutts. “Rejoice, wretched creatures. Your planet is now the property of the glorious Hutt Cartel!”

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Final Thoughts

HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HUTT HIIIIIKE!


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Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7 – “The Road to War”

* Part 1 of 6 of the Civil War II storyline *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7 – “The Road to War”! In the previous storyline, balancing home, school, and superhero time is tough, so Bruno helps make clones to put her in three places at once. However, the clones sucked ass. Also, the clones kept right on cloning until the city was overrun with Kamala Khans! It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Captain Marvel was able to come save the day, recognizing that Ms. Marvel was in over her head and she should focus more on home and school and worry about Ms. Marvelling when her home and school duties are less critical. It’s a lesson we all could learn! No superhero time until your homework is done, I always say.

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7 [June, 2016]
Written by: G. Willow Wilson
“The Road to War”

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7

This story ties into the Civil War event, so there might be some goings-on that aren’t entirely clear. I guess we’ll just have to roll with it, eh?

The Tri-State Ultra Mega Science Fair is going on at Madison Square Garden, and let me tell you, it’s fuckin’ hopping! “Nerds of New Jersey!” declares Bruno loudly and embarrassingly in public. “Only one thing matters today. It isn’t winning first prize. It isn’t the year’s supply of duct tape that comes with it.” He narrows his eyes. “It’s beating the pants off those smirking sneakerheads from New York.”

The New York kids are like “HEEEYY, I’M FROM NEW YORK! WHO WANTS A BROOKYLN-STYLE PIZZA PIE, EH?” The New York team captain is Miles Morales, who may or may not be Spider-Man right now. Their whole goal is to crush Jersey, so these two factions have a lot more in common than they think! They really need to just hug it out.

New York has a robot, I presume, that they call “the Re-aktron”. It’s ready and fully assembled and it will do anything you ask, wink wink.

“You have one hour to prepare your entries for the first round of judging,” says the referee. The nerds put on their ready faces. “Ready, set… SCIENCE!”

The nerds hustle and bustle. New Jersey has an exhibit they’re calling the Skyshark – a real (?) shark suspended in water bubble by a thin membrane. While they get this prepared, Kamala plans on taking a quick peek into what New York is doing. Probably JERKING OFF HA HA HA HA! But seriously folks, they’re JERKING OFF HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!! But really, she small-ifies herself and moseys on over.

Ms. Marvel knows who Miles Morales is! Spoder-Maan. But he doesn’t know who she is. And that’s an advantage, right? She doesn’t really take it that way. “If I’d known Miles was going to be here, I would’ve come down with sudden flu-like symptoms and stayed home.”

Walking around the size of a squirrel she finds New York and Morales immediately senses something. Fuck! Kamala scurries off.

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7

Come on, don’t worry, Kamala. The kid can’t even sense when his dick is stuck in a pickle jar. And it happens a lot.

She runs to a closet and big-ifies, thinking the coast is quite clear. The coast was not at all clear. Morales creeps up above her on the ceiling all spider-like and WHOMP! Lands on the floor, scaring the bejeebus out of her. “AAAAAH!” she is known to scream.

“What are you doing back here, New Jersey?” he sniffs.

“What are you doing back here, Brain-from-Brooklyn?” Kamala retorts.

“Scoping the perimeter. Making sure a certain team isn’t spying on the competition.”

They bicker for about three panels before they do some teenage fuckin’ on the floor. Just kidding! They hate each other! And judging will start on the floor in about five minutes, so places, people!

Kamala returns to her group with nothing to report except, “That Miles Morales guy cornered me and accused us of spying!” And Bruno is shocked. “Everyone spies! It’s tradition!”

It’s weird that he knew Kamala was there, though. Something fishy is going on, and it’s not tonight’s tuna tartare. Or is it?

Time for New Jersey to present their first-round project! “The world’s oceans face great threats from climate change, dumping of plastics, and acidification. Some of the planet’s most majestic marine animals are now under threat. Unable to survive outside the water, they faced certain extinction. Until now.

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7

Booooo!!

A total Karen in the audience accuses the kids of animal cruelty and sentences them to five months in the salt mines. Also, disqualification. The kids argue that it’s an adopted ASPCA rescue shark, so stuff it. The shark looks happy enough to me, so who am I to complain either? Let’s just give these kids a blue ribbon so we can start the pie-eating contest.

The referee allows it! Whew! So now it’s New York’s turn. “Pressurized environments for endangered marine animals,” says Morales. “Going for the sympathy vote as usual, Jersey. If that’s how you want to play it, fine. Let’s see you top this.” He puts on some fucking sunglasses. “Hit it, guys!”

Meet the Re-aktron! It pleasures your dick in a way that pickle jars can only dream about. “The world’s first portable electricity upcycling plant. Static cling? Those little zaps you get from your cell phone after you’ve dropped it a couple times? The Re-aktron harvests it all over the air and turns it into usable electricity.”

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7

And what do we have? A shark in a bubble? Well, that’s a kick in the ol’ nards…

“Hold on a minute,” yells Kamala, bum-rushing Morales. “You say the Re-aktron collects this stuff through the air? How do you know that’s safe?”

“Tesla proved it was safe,” replies Morales, sunglasses aplenty.

“You don’t get to randomly invoke Tesla for something like this,” Kamala gripes. “It’s like Godwin’s Law, but for science.”

Morales is smug as shit; calls Kamala a sore loser. She makes fun of his sweater vest and stomps away, vowing to trample him in the next round when they unveil the Pickle Jar 2.0. And Bruno has an idea, too…

Mike, Bruno’s girlfriend, tells Bruno to stop taking things so personally. Bruno retorts that if he and Kamala don’t get noticed at this stupid science fair by recruiters, they won’t be going to college. It’s that simple, lady. And don’t give me that “maybe Morales is in the same situation” because FUCK YOU that guy is from NEW YORK. Have you ever even BEEN THERE?? BLEEECCCCCHHHH!!!!!!

Here’s Bruno’s big gambit: a little device called the Fusionmaster 2000. “The world’s first miniature nuclear power generator!” he boasts, holding the likely dangerous, radioactive thing in his hand.

“What?!” says a kid from the New York team of New York fucks. “You guys want to make a fuss over whether our submission is safe, then you whip out a pocket fusion reactor? What happens if that thing melts down?”

Bruno is like “a banana is more radioactive than this teeny tiny little–” and then it blows the hell up all over everyone. Now kids may be critically injured. Now there’s a fire in Madison Square Garden. Bruno’s not dead, but he should be so ashamed of himself that he may as well be. “We’ve got to get everybody out of here, fast,” Kamala says, going into that annoying superhero mode.

Ms. Marvel (Vol. 4), Issue #7

Sounds good, kid. Let me know when you see one.

Kamala has the same idea as both Spider-Man and Nova, two other heroes in the room that decided to costume up and save various teenagers from inhaling radioactive smoke.

“So, this is one of those moments,” Kamala thinks as the awkwardness permeates the room. “Those moments when somebody could say something. State the obvious. But when you’re on a team of superheroes, you learn not to see the things your friends aren’t ready for you to see. So you let the moment pass. And you do your job.”

Very profound. The three heroes save the day. Bruno and other members of Team Jersey slump on the curb outside of the venue, dejected and miserable. At least nobody won the fair, but a nice scholarship would’ve been the bee’s knees for real.

Kids from the New York team share the curb and apologize for trying to turn a simple science fair into a stupid war. Morales sits down next to Kamala, apologizes, and yearns for a fresh start! They introduce themselves to each other, starting what I imagine will be a long and fruitful friendship! *trumpet fart*

The news that night covers the explosion at Madison Square Garden. The story features a picture of Bruno making a “YAAAARRGHHH!!” face. “The culprit was a miniature fusion reactor created by Jersey City high schooler Bruno Carrelli, a local boy genius. More on this story as events unfold.

And then, meanwhile, in New Attilan, Medusa and a kid named Ulysses are watching the Jersey City local news. I don’t know who Ulysses is, but the kid has premonitions, and that shitty picture of Bruno looking like shit makes him feel like something big is about to happen.

Something big…

And also… big…

Final Thoughts

Science fairs are for virgins.


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Archie (Vol. 1), Issue #347

Welcome to Archieness & Riverdalers Presents: Archie (Vol. 1), Issue #347!

Archie (Vol. 1) , Issue #347 [May, 1987]

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

”Guess Who”

In today’s story, “Guess Who”, Archie listens to “American Woman” until his parents throw his stereo out the window, hitting an American woman in the head and killing her instantly. It’s prison time for Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, and Archie is orphaned. He lives in an orphanage where he’s fed gruel until his stomach needs to be pumped. Then he dies of exposure because his cot is near a crack in the wall.

Where was I?

“Guess who just made the Riverdale High hockey team!” Archie exclaims holding a hockey stick, making the guessing game a little bit too easy. Betty and Veronica look at him with dopey expressions and ask him who. Archie gets mad. “Why me, of course! Who did you think I was talking about?”

Archie raises his fist like he’s about ready to deck a couple of girls in public, but then they ask when they can see him play. Why, the first game is Saturday afternoon! So don’t miss him getting hit in the eyeballs with a puck, it will surely yield hilarious results!

Jughead, ever the killjoy, inquires as to whether Archie should be playing such a dangerous game. Archie ain’t scared of no hockey. He’s got hockey in his blood, don’t you know. His father was Mario “Hockey” McKnickKnack. Plus, he’s the goalie! Goalie isn’t a dangerous position!

On Saturday, the game begins and the girls don’t see Archie on the ice at all. Not at all! “I don’t want to see a hockey game if Archie’s not playing!” Veronica grumps, storming out. Betty agrees. She storms out, too! And, on the ice, Archie takes off his Jason Voorhees hockey mask and wonders where his girls are at. A comedy of errors already!

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

Blockin’ pucks and lookin’ good while doin’ it!

So Archie’s a natural, as it turns out, and Riverdale wins the game! A celebration at Pop’s is in order, but the girls are already there. He brags and boasts like a jerk, and the girls are like “whuzzat, you weren’t even on the ice, you filthy ginger”. And Archie is like “I GOT A STANDING OVATION AFTER TAKING OFF MY MASK, BITCHES! YOU WEREN’T THERE?!”

“A mask? No wonder we didn’t see you!” says Veronica.

“Who wants to watch you wearing a mask?” says Betty.

“If you want us to watch you play again, don’t wear a silly mask!” adds Veronica.

Archie throws a fit on the floor, which is actually something I’m not making up. He cries and flails. “But I was great today!” he wails, seeing his chance to get a little nookie tonight fading away fast!

”Hand-Tooled Torment”

Below is a real thing Archie says. I didn’t make up a single word.

“Sufferin’ snakeskins, Mom! Look what Uncle Billy Bob sent me! A pair of genuine hand-tooled leather cowboy boots!!”

That’s right, folks. Here in Issue #347 we’ve run out of ideas, so what we have here is a story about Archie’s new shitkickin’ boots.

“Hmph!” snorts Mrs. Andrews. “That’s Billy Bob all right! Just as impractical as ever!”

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

You look like you’re about to get shot in the chest by Clint Eastwood.

Archie is more excited about cowboy boots than any 16-year-old kid has any right to be. Mrs. Andrews comments upon how cute he is in his high heels. “I’m gonna mosey down to the school and show the kids!” Archie says, which is exactly what a man in a trench coat would say. He wobbles dramatically as he walks down the sidewalk, looking drunk as fuck. Thanks, Uncle Billy Bob.

“Mercy me, Miss Abigail! Yonder comes Teetering Tex!” says Veronica.

“I swan, Suzie Mae! He do wobble a bit, don’t he?” says Betty. Again, we see two girls positively EMASCULATING a man, who has every right to sex! MY RIGHT-WING SENSIBILITIES ARE INJURED!

“Don’t tell me Archie,” chimes in Jughead. “You lost a bet and you have to wear those stupid things all day, right?”

“WRONG!”

lol

“The heck with all of you!” Archie says, bringing out the big swears while his heal gets caught in a sewer grate. Hahaha. Take that, idiot. “Hang there, hopalong,” says Jughead, reaching down to help. “I’ll have you loping down the trail again in a minute!”

The three of them continue to throw shade in Archie’s face while he slips on some ice and falls face first into a wastebin. Reggie walks by, sneers, and calls him trash! Haw haw!

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

Bzzzzzz!

Later, in the school, Archie clacks his way down the hallway, drawing the attention of Fat Mr. Weatherbee. “Egad!” he exclaims fatly before contributing his own brand of hilarious shade! Archie growls.

Jughead runs into the school. “Arch! Ms. Grundy threatened detention for lateness! We have half a minute!”

“Oh! Gosh! You’re right!” Archie responds, taking somebody’s lord’s name in vain, at any rate. But guess what? Can you guess?!!?! Archie can’t run down the halls in his stupid $8,000 snakeskin boots! “EEP! They keep throwing me off balance!” he gripes. He falls into a girl named Thelma’s arms, drawing the ire of Veronica. “ACK!” Archie yelps like Cathy in a candy store.

“Ron! Please!” Archie stumbles over to one of his main squeezes.

Veronica responds with icy speech balloons. “Don’t you ever talk to me again as long as you live!”

Dejected, having ruined every relationship and friendship he has in his life, Archie bangs and clangs his way back home in his socks. He’s late for dinner again! Into the brig with you!

Mrs. Andrews tells her wretched son that he could’ve gotten frostbite. Archie says angrily that he already got frostbite from Veronica!

*sad trombone farts*

”I Stink, Therefore I Am!”

“Bye! I’m going to the school dance!” Archie waves as he leaves the house smelling like a gallon of Axe body spray. “Archie!? You’re wearing another cologne?” Mr. Andrews exclaims. “Tonight it’s strawberry, last night it was pine, and the night before that… cinnamon! What gives?”

Archie looks sheepish in his blue-and-white striped tie and his brown jacket, lookin’ like a car salesman. “I use various colognes depending on who I’m dating!” Archie says, ready to tell his parents all about his hound-doggin’. Betty likes pine, Veronica likes cinnamon. Heather, his date tonight, is a bit of an extrovert, and extroverts like strawberries! Archie sprayed it all over his dick and balls.

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

Cheesecake is for lovers, I read that in a Bible once.

Archie picks up Heather and they take off to the school where the gym is filled with horny boys wearing cologne. The air is choking with odors wafting around like a bag in the breeze. One kid is wearing “Garden of the Gladiators”. Another is wearing “Honeysuckle for Hunks”. Then there’s “Macho Musk” and “Swashbuckler’s Sachet” and “Powerhouse Posie” and “Hyacinth of Hercules” and “Robust Rosewater” and oh my god are all the girls shutting their legs with a snap at all these shitty colognes.

Reggie pops into Archie and Heather’s purview smelling like some guy fucked a flower. “Brawny Blue Blossom”, son. And when Heather comments upon liking Reggie’s cologne better, Archie takes Reggie’s bottle of the stuff and splashes some on himself. Then Moose splashes more cologne on and all the guys are wasting cologne and making the place smell awful. All the girls are literally choking to death. Literally!

“I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE!! I’VE GOT TO GET SOME FRESH AIR!” screams Heather, and the other girls agree. They all run out of the gym, gasping at the sweet, sweet outdoor air.

Then Jughead walks by. Good ol’ asexual-as-hell Jughead. The girls think he smells positively alluring! What is that scent?! It’s captivating! Exhilirating! It’s Eau-de-Jughead. He doesn’t wear cologne! Not a drop!

So about 11 girls start chasing him down the street, all with hearts floating above their heads. Imagine that shit!

“Look!” Reggie sneers. “After all the trouble we went through to smell nice, they pick Burger Breath!”

“Yeah! That really stinks!”

Then Archie pours ketchup on his dick and chases after the girls.

”Up for Grabs”

Speaking of school dances, there’s a school dance only two weeks away! Grab that cologne and–

“Has Archie asked you to go?” Betty smiles at Veronica, clearly wanting some of that fresh, pristine Archie beef log for herself. “Face it, Betty!” Veronica says haughtily in her lavish fur coat. “When it comes to dates, I’ve got Archie wrapped around my little pinky!”

…uh, heh, by that I mean, uhm, he hasn’t asked me quite yet, but the day is still young! In the meantime, it’s shopping time! Toodles, unwealthy blonde girl!

When Veronica walks away, the mice come out to play! The “mice” here being Betty, who is excited that Archie still hasn’t asked Veronica. “If I play my cards right, there’s still a chance I can get him to take me! YIPPEE!”

Fawning over this lanky ginger loser is the least realistic part of Archie comics. That kid bites.

Archie (Vol. 1), Issue 347

I found a swordfish in your alternator. I ate it just in time, of course.

Later that day, Archie catches Betty working on his car for free. He’s all like “Thanks, Bets! Now I can go over to Lodge Manor for dinner!” This is the part where Betty goes home and pokes her Veronica voodoo doll with a few more pins.

At Lodge Manor, Archie finishes a wonderful meal of boiled lobster and alternator swordfish. “If Betty hadn’t worked on my car, I might not have been able to make it!” Archie smiles doofily. After he leaves, this is the part where Veronica goes to her room and sticks her Betty voodoo doll into a meat grinder. “Betty’s using cheap tricks to get a date with Archie before I do! From now on, it’s TOTAL WAR!!” she yells, turning red in the cheeks.

Betty and Veronica should just date each other. They clearly want to. My gaydar is going haywire.

The next day, Betty wears her rags to school. “Do you like my new dress? I made it myself!”

Archie pops a boner. “Like it, Sugarlips? I love it!” But then he continues his sexism by giving Veronica the ol’ “VA-VA-VOOM” when she shows up in some French dress. Betty drags her across the room for a come-to-Jesus meeting. Archie is ten feet away looking stupid while Betty tells Veronica that Archie’s too smart to fall for her tricks. Then it’s a “HE’S DATING ME / NO HE’S DATING ME” fight that culminates in the two of them courting Archie’s favor over the course of the next week. Sharing milkshakes, holding hands in the sunset, long walks in the moonlight, and kisses for everyone!

The big day arrives! WHO is Archie going to ask?!

“THE SCHOOL DANCE? I CAN’T GO! I’M VISITING MY RELATIVES THAT WEEKEND! DIDN’T I TELL YOU?”

Betty and Veronica vow to create an Archie voodoo doll and throw it off a bridge.

Final Thoughts

Archie.


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Don’t Besmirch the Church!

Mom! Help! Pope Benedict XVI is hiding under my bed again!

I’m not a church-going man. Then again, I’m not a hardware-store-going man, museum-going man, sports-event-going man, IKEA-going man, or a California Pizza Kitchen-going man. Hell, I’m not much of a man at all! I’m a 38-year-old boy symbolically living in his parents’ woefully unfurnished basement trying to download episodes of Malcolm in the Middle from KaZaA with a 56k modem.

But enough about my poor self-esteem, this post is about church! I can’t pinpoint exactly why I find church so abhorrent, but it might have a lot to do with the word “church”. Too many ch’s in such a small word. It’s awfully aggressive if you ask me. I wonder if flock-strayers like me would be more amenable to church if it was called something else, like “congregation” or “Best Buy”. And the socialization! I don’t know about you, but my idea of a good time is sitting on my couch watching Six Feet Under and pondering my fragile mortality at 1am until I slip into a deep panic attack, not going to church at 10am on a Sunday! These two are inherently incompatible and would require a concerted effort in changing my whole lifestyle to accommodate which includes, as I have already mentioned, symbolically living in my parents’ unfurnished and cold midwestern basement where the only god that gets worshipped is the benevolent TRUMP!

Here’s the real reason I’m not a church-going man: I was raised Catholic. That’s strike one. The Catholic upbringing was, however, casual and not strictly enforced. We went to church during only the following occasions: 1) Easter, 2) when someone died, and 3) whenever my mom felt guilty about not going to church more often, which was always a one-and-done sort of affair. I went through all the sacraments (that’s what they’re called, right? Sacraments? It’s been a while): baptism, communion, confirmation, juggling, motorcycle repair, and pestilence. Each one felt forced, and I went through the motions because it felt like something I had to do like school or eating my vegetables or hitting James Blum in the face with my hard Playmate lunchbox when I was 9-years-old.

Real baptisms are scarier.

Baptism: I was a baby when I was baptized, which means I didn’t provide my express written consent of approval. Of course, the ceremony is as relatively harmless as waterboarding and, other than having 45 withered old relatives gaze at you while you cry, it’s a simple procedure akin to open-heart surgery. The priest merely says some words in a sing-song voice while gently trickling holy water on your head (holy water is different from regular water as it comes in 28 oz bottles instead of the usual 16.9 oz bottles and it says “Holy™ Water by Dasani®” on them). After that, someone wakes up Uncle George who fell asleep in his car in the church parking lot, and everyone visits the home of the baptized child for finger sandwiches and conversations about the football game they all missed.

Communion: I was 7 years old when I had my First Communion, which means I got to eat some bread and drink some wine. Mostly I was just excited to eat some bread and drink some wine, but here’s the rub: the bread is a blessed circle of the driest cardboard your little non-Catholic brain can imagine, and about 245 herpes-mouthed 55-year-old wine moms put their lips on that Blood of Christ goblet before you got your turn. Now, this doesn’t matter to a child who just wants to eat some bread and drink some wine. But as an adult who isn’t all-in on the Catholic thing, this seems absolutely banana-fucking bonkers. An entire building of people drinking from the same cup, and the only line of defense is a filthy cloth? No wonder everyone in Europe got the plague.

Confirmation: I don’t know what this is exactly, because by the time I was 14 years old I had completely checked out of the whole religion mentally and was starting to ask myself deep questions like “If God already knows everything and therefore knows the full trajectory of my life before I even live it, why does He really care about how I act on this Earth?” and “What if our universe is just dust on a giant’s fingernail, whose universe is just dust on his fingernail, and that universe actually has visible evidence of the barbaric crocodile gods whom they all worship while we’re here wondering why God chooses to show Himself as blobs on pieces of toast?” Anyway, with Confirmation I recall needing a sponsor (who turned out to be an equally apathetic uncle), and going on several late-night Christian retreats with the other kids. Branden Garner laughed so hard at something that he puked up his pizza during dinner. That’s the only thing I remember. Obviously the faith and peace stuff didn’t make as much of an impression.

Josh Lyman from The West Wing — a Case Against GOD?!?!?

So then what? Confirmation happened in 2001 and I haven’t looked back since. Maybe it’s because those airplanes flew into the Twin Towers and The West Wing did a very special episode that was the worst thing on TV since they showed those airplanes hitting the Twin Towers, causing me to lose faith in humanity AND God in one fell swoop. Thanks, West Wing.

I labeled myself as agnostic in college for a while because I took the coward’s way out of sitting on the fence about it. I felt so fucking cool putting that on my Facebook profile, like “LOOK AT THIS SHIT, IDIOTS.” By then I was definitely not going to church anymore unless someone died, and even then I got out of it because I was a student at college doing studious things like downloading all the Phish shows I could get my hands on and catching up on episodes of Lost. I remember during one funeral — it was probably some horribly racist great aunt — when it was time for Communion. I sat there in the pew turning red because I could tell every eye in the room was on me. Just imagine everyone in a congregation staring at you with their cold Jesus-loving eyes while the priest has fourteen young boys locked up in the basement. How was I supposed to go up and PRETEND to be all-in on the Catholic thing. Honestly, that would have been more embarrassing.

I have my own hang-ups about funerals that I can get into another time, but I’ve made a decision that, if I can help it, I’m not stepping into a church anymore for the rest of my stupid life. I suppose that was the point of all this rambling in the first place. Fuck church!

*goes to hell*


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