In what is the worst decision since Hitler tried to take Russia in the winter, Archie is going to settle down and get married and will finally be choosing between Betty and Veronica.
Ahem.
(Controls rage).
Archie, what the balls are you doing? You've had these two very hot girls eating out of your hand for sixty years. Sixty comic-book years, so they're still good to look at. And they compete for you, inexplicably. You -- a non-threatening redheaded schmuck with no job and a car older than dust. Perhaps the freckles hypnotize them. But when you get tired of one making you cookies so you go lounge in the other's pool. When her butler pisses you off, you go back to the other. And so on.
WHY STOP NOW.
You're going to throw all of that away so you can buy one of them an expensive ring and try to figure out a way to avoid a prenup (whichever one you choose, you'll want to do this), and lock yourself into a cage without a key that was created by the jewelry and expensive restaurant conglomerates. And you're there forever.
Seriously. Why have one when you can have both? It's the reason Surf 'n' Turf, reversible belts, and Boilermakers exist. This is America -- land of excess, goddamnit. Order the Ribs and the brisket and thank God this isn't Russia.
You're ruining a beautiful thing, Archie. Make the right move and keep stringing these two girls along forever. Live the dream, not the nightmare.
No comments:
Post a Comment