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.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Second Hand Love! 1975
Monday, May 5, 2008
Kiss or Be Killed (1969)
Charlton needed 10 pages to tell today's story, the ambitious Kiss or Be Killed. Set in the exotic land of May-hee-co, it seethes with the threat of violence and is populated with obnoxious Americans, leering banditos and perhaps worst of all ... geologists.
Kiss or Be Killed is really trying to have a message. It takes pains to let the reader know that racism is bad, and daringly shows an American girl kissing a Mexican. Perhaps even more tellingly, the bigot that finds this innocent kiss offensive earns himself a beating and the heroine's disdain. The main problem is that the writer and artist apparently learned everything they needed to know about Mexico from watching Speedy Gonzales cartoons, and the unfortunate use of the surname MANSON doesn't help, either. 
You know, I don't think I'd like to take a trip with Manson Bus Tours, no matter how nice the Yucatan might be. For one they don't seem to bother training their staff - does Cleo really think it's wise to open up the tour by admitting she's never been to Mexico before? She's just begging for a busload of mutiny.
The message is clear: you can kiss a Mexican as long as there's no tongue. Plus it's wrong to be racist. However, if you happen to insult a Mexican, you better get the hell out of town. Because they will cut you.
Can anything else go wrong on this tour? A guide who has never been to Mexico before, having to flee town before one of the paying customers is murdered, and now this creepy shack-dweller is telling them they narrowly avoided driving over a collapsed bridge. It's making the salmonella incident in Paraguay pale in comparison.
Okay, it just got worse, they're stopping until morning, and the creepy drifter is now apparently leading the whole shebang. Does anyone have overnight garments? Is there a toilet on the bus? Why is Cleo leaving the bus to go walking with the creepy dude that just hijacked her bus? How is it that she's still alive?
I have to disagree with the sentiments in Panel 2, because if any of this happened to me I'm pretty sure I wouldn't love telling about it later. Except maybe when I spoke to my lawyer roughly 30 seconds after I got home, to discuss litigation against Manson Bus Tours.
As obnoxious as Mr Lutz is, at least he has the sense to be skeptical about the bearded stranger who comandeered the bus and made them stop in an area inhabited by coyotes. I'm not sure what's up with the Fatso remark, or what's going on in the last panel - did Freer just punch Lutz in the... armpit? Whatever happened, it looks like it hurt. Smaaaaaaakk is pretty serious.
Okay so creepy drifter has led them into an ambush. Hands up, who saw this coming?
So let's try to get this straight. It was necessary to stop the bus so that the banditos could see Lutz get his ass beaten and for creepy drifter to kiss Cleo so she doesn't get assaulted. Couldn't all of this be avoided by, I don't know, fuckin' flooring it out of Mexico? It's not like they were in a vehicle, dude.
...and why is Cleo fantasizing about his tickly kisses and drifter breath?
"No Cleo... I'm respectable." Also kind of a dumbass who endangered your life to kiss you and expose Manson Bus Tours to what will be an inevitable lawsuit by Mr Lutz, but whatever.
I like how Larry secures his date with Cleo by letting her know that she has no choice in the matter. You better attend that fiesta, girl, or you don't even want to know how the locals will exact their revenge.
This is the first story I've scanned from Charlton's Career Girl Romances, but since the stories are definitely a cut above Charlton's usual fare you'll be seeing more of them.
