I love the New York Post, whose headlines are known for their groan-worthy yet awe-inspiring wordplay. Here are some recent examples of the form:
Ha! What can I say, I’m a sucker for that stuff. I buy this paper every weekday and read it on the way to work, and it makes me happy. Here I am enjoying the paper last summer:
So you might think I’d be thrilled to hear they had gotten together. Instead, I’m sort of creeped out.:
I’m not troubled by Archie’s romance with Valerie, OBVIOUSLY. Rather, I’m grossed out by the headline, because a regular Post reader can only read this as a joke about Archie, um, getting pussy. Right? I’m really trying to find another interpretation here, and I just can’t. There’s no other way to read this. Blech.
I was forced to contemplate Archie’s sex life when he had children with both Betty and Veronica in two different recent imagined-future story lines. That was bad enough. But now you’re just throwing it in my face, Archie. Can’t you please go back to being a chaste teen, with no babies and no pussy puns?
(Another quibble: the weekday Post hasn’t been 25 cents since 2008.)