We have a racy one today, folks. Scanned from DC's excellent Girls' Romances title, Kiss and Tell shows us just what my grandmother meant all those years ago about how fierce boys can be when a girl gets a reputation. Of course our heroine hasn't done anything to deserve all the whistles and leering invitations, but that makes them even funnier.
It seems so impossibly innocent now to think that once you could be labeled as a bad girl for just smooching a guy. I think nowadays it would take cameo appearances in several Girls Gone Wild videos and an illicit sex tape made with three costumed Furries and a man wearing an oversized diaper.
Rosemarie, what have you been up to? Have you been frenching that boy that looks like L'il Abner? GO TO YOUR ROOM RIGHT THIS INSTANT YOUNG LADY.
Oh, Ricky! Tell me more about your teachers. What was third period Biology like?
Maybe the other girls on the beach are jealous - or maybe they were all scared away by that orange suit.
Forget about Rosemarie's shocking lack of morals - why is there a mariachi hat store on the boardwalk?
Nice to rub it in, Rosemarie. I'm sure Doris is thrilled that she's on vacation with a girl who left her alone in the hotel room to read a book. Go on and eat the food in the mini-bar, Doris! When she's paying for $25 Toblerone Rosemarie will regret this evening's fun.
Guys in the 70's were so subtle. Take a look at the monster in the third panel! He looks like Paul Lynde with chest hair.
Not so smug now, are we Rosemarie? I guess someone should've listened to her homely friend and stayed home to play canasta like a nice girl.
Why does Ricky keep wearing a sweatshirt to the beach?
I don't know how Ricky's going to talk his way out of this one, but more importantly, is Rosemarie NAKED under that robe? I can't see the straps of her bathing suit or her nightie.
I think Rosemarie's the first girl on the beach to buy that stupid excuse, I'm sure Ricky can't believe his luck that some chick finally bought his "feelings" crap.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Kiss and Tell 1970
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Second Hand Love! 1975
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.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Strange Girl, 1973
Unlike many stories that use a bait and switch cover image to lure a reader in, Strange Girl is just as daring as this cover image implies. Everyone thinks our heroine Liz is a lesbian, even her own mother.
Let this be a lesson to all of the parents out there: general maintenance and yard work will turn your daughter into a lesbian. I know because one time when I was like 12, my parents let me rake some leaves to earn extra money and I spent the next six weeks having these feelings about Lynda Carter.
The artist who worked on this story isn't credited, but he must've worked for MAD at some point, because his style is very familiar and I keep expecting the story to turn into a parody of a 70's movie. It kind of distracts me from the awesome lesbian content.
I know I'm supposed to hate the catty girl in the second panel who strongly implies that our heroine Liz is a lesbian, but I kind of have sympathy for her. There she is in her best pink shirt with matching pink go-go boots, and the red-haired dork she's walking with just wants to talk about putting the town lesbian in a dress. Talk about a burn!
Thanks for the Veruca Salt dress, MOTHER. Where's my Golden Ticket?
It's a good thing that Agnes' mother is distracted by the pain of wearing about 14 pounds of industrial-size curlers, or else she might've picked up on the subtle clues that Agnes' bedroom is about to become Makeout Central.
Oh sure, let Agnes walk home alone, in the dark, with a crowd of lecherous basketball fans roaming the streets.
What's Fred's bag, anyway? I mean, first he's standing on the court during a basketball game, and faking whiplash, and now it's 10 minutes later and he's asking personal questions and trying to hold hands. I think he has boundary issues.
Smooth, Fred. Questioning a girl's sexuality is the perfect way to endear yourself to her. So is launching at her in the dark, come to think of it.
There goes Fred and his boundary issues again, now he's in love. I'm starting to think he really did bump his head and that puffy red hair of his is masking the contusion. Check out Liz's mother's ecstatic reaction: LIZ IS THERE A BOY? LIZ I AM CALLING GRANDMA RIGHT NOW SO SHE CAN WRITE YOU BACK INTO HER WILL!
Yeah yeah, don't we all wish for a boyfriend like Fred... to act as our unwitting beards.
So that's Strange Girl, and even though our heroine isn't a lesbian (I think that'd be too much to ask for) it's a pretty racy story regardless. It's the only story I've ever read where a character's sexuality is questioned, and it gives me an insight into why, when I was growing up girls' sports teams were always referred to as the powderpuff teams. Even well into my highschool years the girls played Powderpuff Football or Powderpuff Basketball. It was just a way of forestalling the lesbian jokes!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
For Love Alone (1969)
Well, I like boys who don't wear their Christmas ties in the summer.
Today's story is from the June-July 1969 issue DC's Heart Throbs. DC's romance comics were the best of the best in the post-code era, and I think you'll notice the change from Charlton's low budget wackiness right away. At DC, the plots make sense, the artwork is highly skilled, and the comic is actually competently printed: the wildly miscalibrated screens and mystery blotches that plague Charlton comics are absent here.
Contrast this simple little story of an ordinary girl with a commonplace problem to the bizarre things that befall Cleo Manson in my last post. Here instead of being pursued by banditos, our heroine Roseanne is just too shy to find herself a boyfriend, and her married sister and brother-in-law try to help her by setting her up on a date.
Judging by the squeaky clean dorkiness of the husband that Beth hooked for herself, I think Roseanne is justified in her fear of being set up by her and I suspect that her "shyness" is at least partially invented. God knows what kind of nerd is going to walk through that door.
I don't know the reason for it, but the guys in romance comics always look 15 years older than the girls, even when the characters are supposed to be the same age. I don't know if David is supposed to be older than Roseanne, or if he's just prematurely aged like all men in the 60's. Was it all the smoking and drinking and playing poker with oversized nudie cards? Maybe they sold frowning kits in the back of mens' magazines because it was impossible to get ahead with a smooth, unlined face.
Wait, why was Roseanne going to the square dance in the first place if she didn't like to dance? Oh, I bet she was a blast to bring to dances, making everyone awkward as she skulked around the edges of the crowd. At least she's coming out of her shell now, as evidenced by that pink panel - monochromatic panels always signify hormones. Lots of hormones.
See? That green panel is sizzling.
This is the second time David's shown up with a kind of gold bar on his jacket pocket, is he wearing a name tag? Maybe it's the pin he wears as a member of the DIRTY GIGOLO SOCIETY.
David's getting more lined with each page, but Roseanne doesn't care, she greens his panel and how.
The panel where Roseanne runs away weeping with her eyes closed is a DC story staple, along with the sexy monochromatic panels, sadder-but-wiser endings and dream sequences.
Now that I have the blog settled I'm going to be posting on a Mon - Wed - Fri schedule, and we'll see how that goes. So, look for a new post and a new poll on Friday.
