Today's story is Second Hand Love, a mid-70's masterpiece from the DC title Secret Hearts. The story trots out the shopworn premise of the secretary falling for her young, handsome boss, but it has two things going for it that raise it above its mundane plot: a Paris Hilton-style debutante and a heroine who is so completely lacking in self-esteem that she really needs to be institutionalized.
If a man has to choose between two girls, they can never have the same hair color. Will it be the sassy redhead or the cheerful blonde trying to strangle herself? Does it really matter when their skirts are that short?
Run along now, and remember I want that note to be classy, so only mention my dick like, once. Twice at the max. Oh and Carol, can you not wear those weird socks to work again? I've asked you before but you still keep coming to work in them. If I see those things again I'm going to dock your pay.
How can Kip be the greatest guy that ever lived? I could buy it if the writers had squeezed in a few panels of him rescuing a kitten from a tree or maybe just giving his spare change to the homeless, but as it stands he's just some creep who can't be bothered to compose his own love letters. He also apparently talks to his secretary's belt buckle.
Does Kip ever actually do any work? If I ran that company he would be so fired.
Mr Lawson, I--I-- I have to tell you t-that you're a total dumbass!
Office attire has really changed since the 70's. I'm not sure if even the most casual workplace today would let you come to work wearing a skirt that turns every dropped pen into an x-rated peepshow.
Whoa, take it easy there, Carol. I'm pretty sure that those scissors are company property... wait, did she just say she's been in love with this guy for five years? I bet that her skirts started out ankle-length and then, in desperation, she began to shorten her hems in the hopes that eight hours a day of looking at her ankles, then legs, and then finally her beav would get the hint through Kip's thick skull.
It's a good thing she just quit, if that trend kept up in a few months she'd coming to work wearing an oversized bandaid over her buttcrack.
So, Carol... tell me all about how much you like me. Is it because I'm so awesome? Have some more champagne and tell me how awesome you think I am, really. Don't be shy. It shouldn't bother you at all that I never noticed you were alive until now.
Obviously nobody has ever explained the concept of being on the rebound to Carol. It's not that Kip is making it obvious or anything by constantly thanking her for taking his mind off his broken engagement.
Check out the crazy eyes action in the last panel while Carol chants what appears to be some kind of spell. You know that just out of the panel she has a stalker shrine set up with clippings from Kip's electric razor and a Kleenex she pilfered from his trash can. Possibly with KIP LOVE ME scrawled on her walls in pigeon blood.
Looks like someone didn't chant hard enough, because here comes Paris Hilton and her big hair! When Carol snaps and bazookas everyone in the office, Kip will have no one to blame but himself.
Take a letter, Miss Gates... I'm a big square-headed clod, and while I could've blown off my ex-girlfriend over the phone, it was way more fun to mess with your head. Let's have dinner tonight, you can tell me how awesome I am. I promise to remember your name this time. Signed, Kip.