In life we all face certain questions that must be answered; certain choices that must be made. Today we look at a young man faced with a few of those important decisions - which career to choose? Which girl to marry? And which comic book to sell the eventual tragic story of heartbreak and redemption to?
Well, we know how one of those decisions went; he told this tale to Girls Love #135 and they immediately turned it into a story about a guy trying to explain to a girl how promises made during second grade recess are not legally binding, while both are menaced by who I can only assume is a tennis racket killer.
Something made her pick the phone up; that "something" being her downstairs neighbor hollering "PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE ALREADY!" Ah, the joys of apartment living.
Wow, excitement at last! It isn't every day you get a call from an important soap opera!
Weeping in the back of a taxi while muttering "don't die, don't die" is pretty normal behavior, actually. Some of those taxi drivers are maniacs!
I know waiting in the hospital can be one of the most stressful and traumatic experiences anyone can face. But cheer up; it could be worse. It could be the DMV.
And right there in the waiting room is the OTHER WOMAN, that hussy who STOLE JOHNNY AWAY FROM YOU. It's a good thing we're in a hospital bitch because YOU'RE GONNA NEED IT WHEN... no. Not yet. First, flashback.
"Sure, tennis is OK, but busting open dusty law books and researching prior adjudication is where it's at!" he said, and Cara's heart instantly melted.
Here's a relationship tip for you fellas, lock that engagement down by threatening self-harm!
He brought his tennis racket to the train just to hand it to her so she can drag it back home? That's a power move right there.
And thanks to what must have been an all-time slow news day, Cara learns that Johnny's love for tennis has taken a heartbreaking new twist.
Johnny's gone from "if you don't marry me I'll kill myself" to... breaking up with his fiance by letter. Classy move Johnny. Also you were both TWENTY, you weren't KINDERGARTENERS
Now we're all caught up. Johnny and Tennis Hussy are in town for a tennis match and also to get married in the old town church, so you'd think this hospital would be filled with concerned friends and family, here for the wedding and shocked at this tragedy, but I suppose this hospital has strict "girlfriends only" visiting hours.
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You little hick, Johnny needs life and action! The kind of excitement only a pro tennis career can bring! Endless practices in the hot sun, the smack of the tennis ball against the court, the constant laundering of tennis shorts and shirts, the hushed silence of the crowd, the thrill of victory, and then... more practice! And perhaps... maybe one day... an antiperspirant endorsement! How dare you try to take that glamour away, you wanna-be law-wife. How DARE you.
It's the match point here in the waiting room... the serve is good... and Tennis The Menace wins the set with a powerful, emotionally crushing overhead slam.
Hospital policy is to let rival girlfriends fight over the correct course of medical treatment. Sure, it might seem like something out of a soap opera, but after all this IS General Hospital!
"As his jilted lover I assume full legal responsibility, Doctor, and I promise my feelings of rejection and anger haven't affected my decision in any way, totally, I swear, honest."
"He's going to be perfect! Except for a few toes. You can live without a few toes, that's why God gave you ten."
He guesses he'll live? Man, there's nothing worse than these Web MB patients who self-diagnose. You let the DOCTOR handle those medical statements, buddy!
Johnny, when you promised to make Cara a lawyer's wife, that wasn't, you know, legally binding. Her love for you wasn't predicated on whether you make partner in some firm. Or maybe it was, in which case you were *definitely* born to be a lawyer.
Remember guys, you can't threaten suicide and then ditch your fiancée and try to forget your pain with parties and tennis and beautiful girls. You'll just wind up with a wrecked car and two fewer toes. Don't say we didn't warn you!
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