All language subtitles for Riverdale s07e05 Tales in a Jugular Vein.eng

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.

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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.

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