Original subtitles

Obviously, I don't have to remind you gentlemen

that this meeting never took place.

Of course not, Mayor Blossom.

Has Ethel Muggs been talking much

since she's been with the Sisters?

Not a peep.

Sister Woodhouse has imposed a vow of silence.

Very good.

- What about the PTA? - Parents are still upset.

It's all they talk about at our meetings.

Who killed Mr. and Mrs. Muggs?

As long as people remain focused on this murder case,

the more precarious

our grasp of the situation becomes.

What's the Sheriff's office doing?

Tom is trying to find this "milkman"

and the murder weapon.

Why is he doing that?

I have the murder weapon right here.

What are you getting at, Fredreich?

We have to stop rehashing

the Muggs murder case and start making sure

that something like it never happens again.

In my extensive research, in case after case,

comic books are the influencing factor in most incidents

of juvenile delinquency and teen violence.

They are a moral scourge, gentlemen.

And their creators, criminal degenerates.

That's what the PTA should be talking about.

Comic books.

Not the Muggs.

And I believe I know exactly how to make that happen.

Well, look who strolls in whenever his heart desires.

What do you want, kid?

I was just in the neighborhood.

Where is everyone?

They're all out with a stomach bug.

Now I'm under more water than the Titanic.

Can I help?

I need a full issue...

I can do that.

Written by tomorrow morning.

Yeah, that's no problem, Mr. Fieldstone.

I'm fast. I'm a great speller.

Four stories. Seven pages each.

Zero margin for error.

I'll write 'em on spec.

If you like them, then great.

And if not, there's plenty more where that came from.

Right.

If you have trouble coming up with some ideas,

take these springboards.

Talk them through with Bernie.

I will. Won't let you down.

Bernie.

Gosh, Bernie, all these stories have been done to death.

Aren't there any original ideas anymore?

Says the teenager?

Bernie, you're a genius.

What about stories about teenagers and high school?

Pep Comics doesn't have any of those, right?

Uh...

Al says he doesn't relate to them.

But teenagers do buy our books.

Well, shucks, me and my friends do.

What about a narrator

that's actually a witchy lunch lady, or a creepy janitor?

We can call it "Homeroom of Horrors."

Huh?

You think Mr. Fieldstone will bite?

Sure.

Give it a whirl.

There's my little tortured genius.

- Think you could take a break

from writing the next great American novel

and take this glamour gal to go see a fun flick?

Diabolique is playing at the Babylonium,

and I know you don't mind subtitles.

Ooh. Could we go tomorrow, maybe?

I'm on deadline.

Al's asked me to write an entire issue by morning.

An entire issue?

Sounds like a bit of a coup for you.

Yeah, it is.

But it's also a lot of pressure.

Though, if I do a bang up job on these pages tonight,

Fieldstone could ask me to be one of his go-to's.

Okay. Okay.

My French thriller about murderous schoolteachers can wait.

But since I'm here, maybe I can help you.

How far have you gotten?

I'm almost done with my first story.

I'm all ears. What's it about?

Sports-themed.

Because what's scarier than gym class?

And it has a narrator,

like all of my yell yarns will,

um, called the Key-Keeper.

- I had one of the artists at Pep Comics do a mockup.

It's pretty nifty, right?

The niftiest. Looks like a real charmer.

Well, well, well, if it isn't another problem child.

You're looking for a little mischief and mayhem,

aren't you?

Well, maybe I can be of some assistance.

I'm the Key-Keeper, you see?

The midnight custodian of this schoolhouse of horrors.

Come along and let's wake the dead

with a real spine twister, shall we?

I call this sordid little tale...

Every team has one,

the runt, the klutz, the pip-squeak.

On the Bulldogs basketball team,

that half pint was

Dilton Doiley,

who was short, near-sighted and uncoordinated.

At the end of one particularly grueling practice,

Coach Kleats had the team line up for free throws.

No one could leave until everyone had made a basket.

But Dilton couldn't make a shot to save his life.

Come on, Doiley.

Get your head in the game.

Maybe you need a little motivation.

Coach Kleats had the other players

start running laps until Dilton sunk one lousy bucket.

You're a dead man, Doiley.

Poor Dilton.

He would soon learn the true meaning of the term "foul play."

The hell is wrong with you, Doiley?

I'm sorry, fellas.

I... I'm trying my best.

Why are you even here

if you can't make one stinking basket?

I just wanted to be part of a team.

Then be the damn water boy.

It's like what Coach Kleats said...

"You've got to get your head in the game."

How... how do I do that?

Maybe a night stuffed in a locker

will help you figure it out.

What? No. Guys, guys, guys.

Please, please, don't do that.

No. Please! Please!

You don't understand.

Stop! I can't.

- Hey, guys, maybe this isn't such a good idea. - -Don't leave me here!

- Stuff it, Andrews. I can't be here alone.

- Please. I can't. - Doiley's got to learn.

He's gonna start pulling his weight.

Or we're gonna murder him.

No! Don't go!

Please! Please! Don't go!

Don't leave me here! I can't do this. No!

No! Please!

What these merciless jocks didn't know

was that Dilton Doiley was born morbidly claustrophobic.

So, by the time the day shift found and released Dilton

the next morning...

Dilton had suffered a complete psychotic break.

He was a changed man.

A madman, you might say.

Hell-bent on revenge against the Bulldogs.

Then it was just a matter of lying in wait

for his teammates to reconvene for basketball practice

later that afternoon.

Luckily, Dilton had the perfect hidey-hole

from which to pop out and surprise his teammates.

After which Dilton could dedicate himself

to perfecting his free throw technique.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Attaboy, Doiley!

Help!

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Gotta keep my head in the game.

Good for Dilton.

Those awful bullies got what was coming to them.

Exactly.

And you see, that's what nitwits like Werthers

just don't understand.

What, exactly?

Well, that these so-called "degenerate" comics

are actually bite-sized morality tales.

Especially those that involve

Julian Blossom getting his head chopped off.

I mean, you joke, but it's true.

Yes, comics can be over the top and bloody sometimes,

but in these stories, people that break the rules get punished.

People who are cruel to others get punished.

People who have lustful sex get punished.

Lustful sex, did you say?

Tell me more about that, Juggiekins.

I've got a tale for you.

And it starts, believe it or not,

on a dark and stormy night...

With a flat tire near an isolated mansion.

And a young, strapping man in need of assistance.

Yes?

May I help you?

I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, ma'am,

but my hot rod got a flat tire down the road.

Must've ran over a nail or something.

Oh, how dreadful.

And now here you are, stranded, you poor dear.

Why don't you come inside?

You can use our telephone to call the garage.

At this hour? Oh, they'll be closed, ma'am.

Would it be too much trouble if I stayed the night?

That way, in the morning, I can call the garage

and I'll be out of your hair.

I suppose. But...

I'm afraid the storm has knocked out our power.

But you can warm yourself by the fire.

Well, come in.

Come in.

Oh, you look a fright.

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words,

but I only need two for this one.

Hubba-hubba.

Thank you for the tea, ma'am.

It's... I already feel better.

There's not much in this world that a strong cup of tea

and a roaring fire can't fix.

And you're welcome to stay in my guest room tonight.

Oh, thank you, ma'am.

That's very kind of you.

However, there are one or two ground rules you must observe.

Of course.

Of course. Anything.

Once you're in your room, you must stay there.

All night.

And you must lock the door, and keep it locked

for the entire night.

Any particular reason why?

Alas, yes.

I am not alone in this house.

My granddaughter lives with me,

and she's not quite in her right mind.

She has this compulsive craving

for intimate, physical,

some might even say inappropriate touching.

Really?

Oh, yes. She's ravenous for it.

Can't keep her hands to herself.

Wow. That's...

I mean, that sounds... Wow.

She's even been known to sneak into the bedrooms

of strange young men in the middle of the night

in order to get her "fix," as it were.

Is... that your granddaughter?

Yes, it is.

She's beautiful, isn't she?

Well, it's getting late.

Let's get you settled, shall we?

Surely some rules were meant to be broken,

especially when the consequences might prove

to be downright titillating.

You're here.

You came.

Are you the old lady's granddaughter?

Yes. I'm Cheryl.

I'm so glad you're here.

It's been so long since I've gotten to touch... like this.

I... sure am happy to be here, too.

Let me just light a candle.

- No! No! - Whoa.

No.

What we're about to do is best...

It's best done in darkness.

Now kiss me.

And let me... feel you.

Avert your eyes, pervert, and turn the page,

to a bright new day.

How was your night, young man?

Did you sleep well?

It was... incredible.

Thank you again for the hospitality, ma'am.

I, uh... I saw your granddaughter,

I think, by the window.

So what's wrong with her?

Some kind of mental illness?

Oh, Cheryl was once youthful and vibrant,

like any young girl her age.

But she wanted adventure.

And I couldn't help but indulge her.

She took a trip to some tropical jungle

in some far-off place,

and unfortunately, while she was there,

she contracted a rare form of leprosy.

Leprosy?

Horrible, terrible, disfiguring disease.

Rotting her swollen flesh away,

and incredibly painful.

Now she can't be around other people

because it's so very contagious, you know.

But, I mean, you don't...

Oh, no, I was exposed as a child,

and so I'm immune.

I don't suppose you...

Am immune? No.

Mercifully, she'll soon succumb to the leprosy and die,

which is why

I do everything in my power

to ensure that she relishes her final days on Earth.

What do you mean?

What do you mean by that?

It was no accident that brought you here, young man.

How do you think those nails got onto that road?

I did warn you.

I gave you a chance to lock that door and be a good boy.

And now you're almost certainly infected as well.

After last night,

we're going to be together forever, and ever

till death do us part.

Well, that was grotesque.

What was the moral there?

Don't trust creepy old ladies

and their nymphomaniac, leprosy-ridden granddaughters?

Well, it's more of a "curiosity killed the cat" message, I think.

Ah.

Or don't engage in heavy petting in the dark with someone,

if you haven't got proper protection.

You know, I'm hearing that Archie and Cheryl broke up,

and that in the end, they didn't do much more than neck...

Oh, yeah? Well...

Who can keep up with all the horny teens at Riverdale High?

I mean, what else is there to do?

That's why God created high school.

So there'd be a place where boys could...

chase girls and vice versa.

Yeah.

I mean...

girls will do just about anything

to get a boy's attention.

Including feigning an interest in comic books, apparently.

Every school has one.

The plain Jane with the ponytail mane,

the sweater-set waiting for better yet

who none of the boys seemed to sick their sights on.

Bland Betty was little more than an invisible girl.

Yes, my foul fiends,

Betty's prospects of landing a date were very grave indeed.

So she followed the advice of her favorite beauty mags.

And now, how can I help you, hun?

I would like a new look, please.

Oh, what's giving you the gringles,

doll face?

I just feel so...

unseen.

All the girls at my school have beaus,

and it's just like I'm a, uh...

ghost.

I need something...

else, something new.

Something amazing that will get all the boys' attention.

Well, I've got to tell you,

this ponytail is doing you no favors.

But, but, but,

I just came back from my fabulous honeymoon abroad.

And there's this new hairstyle that is all the rage in Europe.

Really? What is it?

It's called the Beehive.

"Beehive."

Sounds sophisticated.

Oh, it is.

So we tease up all your hair, put in some extensions,

and then we roll it all up into a dome, just like a hive.

A hive-hive?

I know it sounds a little silly,

but wait till you see it.

All the girls in England and France,

they just love it.

And the boys, they're crazy about it.

And, on my mother's grave,

may she rest in peace...

you're going to get all the attention you've ever wanted,

and then some.

What the heck?

If it's good enough for the Parisians, it's good enough for me.

Oh, smart girl.

You're going to look so chic.

Now, there's just one thing.

Once we get your goldie locks up into the hive,

you're not gonna be able to wash your hair

or undo it, ever.

Oh. Well, how do I maintain it?

With this. Hair spray.

Use throughout the day as needed.

Well, my mom says, I'm supposed to wash my hair

every other day or at least once a week.

With all due respect to your dear mama,

I'm the professional.

And you do want to look beautiful.

Am I right?

The next day,

an all-new Betty showed up at school.

Her coif climbed to such heights it rivaled the Tower of Babel.

And similarly, it got everybody talking.

All the boys went goo-goo-ga-ga.

And as for the girls, well,

they were positively gangrene with envy.

Watch where you're spraying, Betty.

You know, that ridiculous hairstyle will never change the fact

that you'll always be a ponytail princess

on the inside.

Betty didn't care

what Cheryl and Veronica thought.

In fact, that was the first time

they'd spoken to her.

And once Betty got that blush of attention,

well, she started needing it, feeding off it.

The more hairspray she put in her hair,

the heavier and more shellacked it became.

And the more the boys noticed her.

Can I carry your books to class, Betty?

Aw, gee, thanks, Julian.

Hey, uh, Betty, can I take you out

this Friday night, please?

Aw, Archie...

I'll think about it.

And Betty stayed true to her word.

She didn't wash her hair or undo it, ever.

She even slept in her beehive,

putting more hairspray on before tucking herself in at night.

And that's when the very bad thing happened.

I swear, in all my years, I've never seen a cuter couple.

- She's a cool cookie now, isn't she, Pop?

What do you mean, "now?"

Betty's always been a peach.

You're making me blush, Archie.

Hey, I'm a lucky cat.

I'm going out with the ginchiest girl

with the ginchiest hair at Riverdale High.

Mmm! Best song ever.

- Come on, snake, let's rattle. - Okay.

Betty, is everything all right?

Whoa, Betty.

Something's not...

Betty. Betty!

Betty!

Someone get some help!

Betty's having some kind of fit!

Someone call the hospital!

Oh, God! Betty!

No one could guess how a young girl like Betty,

so full of life, would just drop dead.

Then again, maybe the town's coroner will have the answers.

So young, so beautiful,

and what a fascinating hairstyle.

Hmm.

Oh, my.

What have we here?

No.

No!

Please, no!

No, anything but spiders!

Turns out, Betty's hair

attracted more than just boys.

A black widow spider had crawled

into her tresses that night

and laid a batch of eggs in that ginchy hive of hers.

And when those itsy-bitsy spiders hatched,

they chewed into her brain,

which is what triggered Betty's deadly diner bug-out.

Poor, sweet Betty.

She had to learn her lessons the hard way.

Beauty is only skin deep, and vanity kills.

"Beauty is only skin deep?" "Vanity kills?"

Are these actually different lessons

or variations on a theme?

And what's wrong with wanting to look good?

Boys do the same thing.

They toss weights around, to turn themselves into he-men.

- Uh... - At any rate, by my count,

you're down to your last story

and I still haven't had a starring role in one.

Well, say, that's a notion.

Something romantic would be nice.

Or something that focuses on female friendship.

Yeah, what if we did a flip

of the classic teenage love triangle?

One in which the girls

don't go at each other's throats and cat-fight.

Now, you're singing my tune.

Presenting my fourth and final story of the evening.

A terror tale I'm calling "My Better Half."

Archie's a good egg.

But a half-wit when it comes to decision-making.

He struggles with the most basic

of all multiple-choice questions.

Should he go for A, "The girl next door?"

Or B, "The rich starlet-socialite?"

But in a rare stroke of mad genius,

Archie chose C, "Both of the above."

So, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays,

Archie takes Betty out.

And on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays,

he takes out Veronica.

The one downside to this break-neck schedule

was that Archie would, on occasion,

collapse from sheer exhaustion.

But it was nothing that couldn't be rectified

with a strong cup of coffee.

Or four.

But even for a strapping young buck,

six dates a week will wear a fella out.

That's why Archie saved Sundays for himself.

To rest, recover, and replenish for the week ahead.

Now, you might think Archie

would try to keep his relationships a secret.

But he didn't.

Betty and Veronica knew he was dating the other.

Still, each girl wanted Archie all to herself.

They're playing Double Indemnity

at the Babylonium tomorrow night,

if you want to play a little back row bingo.

Oh, I wish I could swing it, but I got plans.

Meaning you've got a date with Veronica.

When are you going to drop that vapid airhead?

Oh, please. Don't get razzled.

Why shouldn't I?

Having to share my beau with that smelly tomboy.

Don't I make you happy?

Of course you do.

Then why aren't I enough?

Oh, come on, it's not like that.

Hey, you guys are both so different.

But let me let you in on a little secret.

You're my favorite.

Really?

Oh, Archie.

How do you do it, Andrews?

Two broads at the same time. What's your secret?

All right, listen, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once, okay?

You tell them what they want to hear.

That yes, I'm seeing other girls,

but I'm only serious about you.

Okay? You feed them the same three simple words.

"You're my favorite."

Technically, that's four words.

"You're" is a contraction.

"You are my favorite."

- Four words. - Shut up, Doiley.

We're learning from Don Juan here.

But don't you ever get... exhausted?

Sure.

But that's why God invented Sundays and coffee.

Things might've kept humming along as is

until graduation day,

but the Good Ship Archie was headed for an iceberg,

Valentine's Day,

which, this year, disastrously, landed on a Sunday.

So, Veronica, who's the lucky guy

taking you out for Valentine's Day?

- Archiekins, of course. - Keep dreaming.

Archie is my date.

You know, Betty, for a smart girl,

you really are dense.

Archie is going to spend V-Day with his best girl.

And that's me.

- Says you. - Says him.

Archiekins says the only reason he spends so much time with you

is because you're a charity case.

First of all, he hates being called Archiekins.

Second of all, the only reason

he spends any time with you at all

is because your ego is so fragile

he's afraid you might do something desperate or crazy

if he breaks up with you.

He said I'm fragile?

Oh, as a Glamerge egg.

Well, he told me you're so high-strung

you sometimes take your mom's sleeping pills to go to bed.

- He told you that? - Mmm-hmm.

Sounds like someone's been playing you two for fools.

That rat-fink!

Archie, you have to choose right now.

Who's going to be your date for Valentine's Day?

And after you pick me, of course,

you need to end things with Betty permanently.

Ladies, ladies, let's all calm down.

In fact...

neither of you can be my date on Valentine's Day.

Why not?

'Cause I'm taking my mom.

You see, it's...

It's her first Valentine's Day without my dad, and...

And, well, she needs me.

I hope you guys can understand.

Archie, of course we understand.

That's so sweet and thoughtful.

I'm sorry we pressured you.

Me, too. It was her idea.

Well, you guys shouldn't have to miss out

on Valentine's Day on account of me.

I mean, there must be some other guys you can go out with.

Yeah, Betty, find somebody else.

No. No, it's really okay.

There's an extra credit report

that I've been putting off, so...

As for me, Mademoiselle just published a recipe

for an egg-white face mask I've been dying to try.

So that'll keep me busy.

Okay, so you're both staying in this Sunday night, then?

But when Sunday night rolled around...

Betty and Veronica decided against staying in,

and went on a Valentine's date,

together.

So, imagine their surprise when who should walk in but...

- He wouldn't. - He couldn't.

That rat-fink!

Wait.

Whatever you're about to do...

I have a much better idea.

Betty. Veronica.

What's going on?

We were wondering how your Valentine's date went

with your mom.

Yeah, it was nice. Quiet.

Why?

Well, because a night-off gave us a chance to reflect,

and since you've been having such a hard time

deciding between the two of us,

we were thinking...

what if you had us both?

At the exact same time,

for a very, very special date?

Really?

Really.

Say no more.

I'll pick you both up tonight,

we'll head over to Lover's Lane.

I know the perfect spot. Nice and private.

Actually, Betty had an interesting idea.

I was thinking we could meet in shop class.

After hours, of course.

Why would we go there?

Don't you know?

It's sound-proof.

And we plan on making a lot of noise.

Come, Archie. Join us.

Wait.

You're forgetting something.

Your coffee.

We took the liberty of brewing it

extra strong for you tonight.

Oh, guys, I really don't think I'm gonna need a boost tonight.

Now, now, no need to posture.

You'll want all your energy for what we have planned.

Promise.

Cross our hearts and hope to die.

Mmm.

Everything all right, Archiekins?

Yeah, no, I'm good. I just...

Someone's waking up, Vee.

I think you're right, Bee.

Welcome back, handsome.

What's happening?

Apologies if you're

experiencing a splitting headache.

I wasn't sure how many of my mom's sleeping pills

to slip into your coffee.

Whatever it is, I'm sure we can figure it out.

But it's already been figured out, silly.

Trust us. This is a perfect solution.

After all, a problem shared is a problem solved.

- Shall we, Vee? - After you, Bee.

Wait, wait, wait. Wait. Wait!

Wait, hold on! Hold on!

Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!

This won't hurt... much.

We just want to double our fun.

Here, for the first time,

Betty and Veronica are with their beloved Archie

on the same night at the same time,

secure in the knowledge that they'll never have to

share him again.

Didn't I tell you he was a half-wit?

Well?

What did you think of that tag-team twist at the end?

O. Henry, eat your heart out, am I right?

I have... opinions.

Okey-dokey.

I'm detecting a pattern, Jughead.

The sexual politics in most of your stories

are troubling, to say the least.

Veronica, my gosh,

you may be overthinking this.

These stories are just meant to be a gas.

For whom?

Not teen girls, not when you're depicting them like...

shallow, crazy killers.

Is that what you think of us?

No. Of course not.

The boys aren't great shakes, either.

So you admit you're demonizing women?

Veronica, it's just a comic book.

Anyhoo, I'm done now.

Why don't we try to catch that last showing of Diabolique

at the Babylonium?

What do you say? My treat.

I think I'll take a page from your last story

and split.

What's going on? Are we not copacetic anymore?

Of course we are.

I'm just tired, is all.

I'll catch you at school tomorrow, promise.

And as easy as that,

whatever bubble Veronica and I had been in, just burst.

Tomorrow, at school, things would be different.

We'd no longer be the Marilyn Monroe

and Arthur Miller of Riverdale High.

We'd pass each other in the hall,

but she'd once again be the beautiful socialite,

and I'd be the melvin who writes comic books.

The kind that hopefully weren't corrupting the youth of America.

"Don't be fooled by their name.

These publications are anything but comic.

In their pages, crime is glorified.

Acts of wanton carnality are celebrated.

Stabbings and beheadings and disembowelings are commonplace,

vividly depicted,

and offered up to our children like so much bubblegum.

If anyone doubts the insidious effects

of this subversive medium,

let me stress what my extensive research

has proven time and again.

There's a direct and undeniable link

between gruesome acts of brutality depicted

in the pages of comic books,

and similar acts of savagery committed in real life

by the juveniles who read these comics books.

Our children are being seduced

- by violence, by sex, by depravity.

Their innocence must be preserved

by any means necessary."

I congratulate you, Dr. Werthers.

That's a brilliant editorial.

The soon-to-be-forgotten Muggs murders,

small potatoes compared to the threat to America

that you have outlined here for us tonight.

Thank you, Mr. Mayor.

I consider it my civic and moral duty.

That's why these so-called creators

of these dangerous and morally reprehensible stories

must be held accountable

and punished to the full extent of the law.

I've been reading your stories, Jones.

I gotta say, I love 'em.

This is incredible stuff.

Thank you, Mr. Fieldstone. I, um...

I needed a win today.

Oh, how come?

Ah, let me guess. Girl trouble?

Yeah.

I... kinda had this sweet thing going with this one gal,

but then she read my comics and, um...

Well, she took it the wrong way.

I don't think she liked what I was saying.

I don't even know what that means.

But you busted your ass

to turn those stories around overnight.

And I think you deserve

a little something extra for that.

- A bonus? - God, no. What are you, nuts?

No, I'm thinking, um, credit.

- Your name... - On the cover?

God, no. A byline.

- On the inside. But still... - It's my name in print.

Oh, golly, that would be incredible, Mr. Fieldstone.

I mean, my friends would flip.

How does Jughead "Jugular" Jones

sound for a byline?

Oh... I'm crazy for it.

Yeah.

Now, you listen to me, kid,

I don't know much, but I do know this.

Girls come and go.

But your name in print,

now that's a thing that'll make people sit up and take notice.

Little did any of us imagine how prophetic

Mr. Fieldstone's words would turn out to be.