_The Look-Alike Series_ Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit Episode 3: "Poetic Injustice" prose adaptation (version 2.0) by Austin Loomis "I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison that is sanity." -- from the journals of Amadeus Arkham, quoted by Grant Morrison in _Arkham Asylum: a serious house on serious earth_ It was a typical day in Tim O'Neill's junior English class. School brain Daria Morgendorffer was reading Sylvia Plath's _The Bell Jar_. Her near- double, Lynn Cullen, was reading _Beginner's Guide to Hiring a Hit Man: Where to Go, What to Ask For!_ Since _Rat-Boy_ was between issues at the moment, quarterback and human sieve Kevin Thompson was reading an Archie comic, his lips moving all the while. No one was paying a great deal of attention to Mr. O'Neill, but Kevin was the only one who didn't have at least one ear open. "Now, class," Tim the Human Marshmallow gushed, "next week is Poetry Week, so for Monday, I'd like you all to bring in a poem that really says, `I feel'! Remember, those feelings are there to express, so *go* with them! *Go* where they move you!" Daria didn't look up from her book. "Does this still apply if I feel nauseous?" Lynn didn't look up either. "Of course it does. And believe me, I second that emotion. We're moved by this tripe towards the bathroom where we can talk to God on the great white telephone." "I can go with that." * * * In Lynn's dark and mysterious room, she and Daria were flipping through notebooks. "How about `Deathwish'?" the hostess suggested. "A bit light on its feet for a first-timer." "`Good-Bye Cruel World'?" "Do you really want to start your time at Lawndale High with a poem with the same title as a Pink Floyd song?" "Hey, I *like* Pink Floyd," Lynn replied, a little miffed, "but I see your point. What about `Facades'?" "Maybe..." Daria reflected, obviously not convinced. Lynn made a disgusted sound and threw her notebook on the floor. "Death to the English teachers of the world." "Now *that's* a poem I'd like to hear." She noticed that a sheet of paper had fallen out of Lynn's notebook. Before her quasi-twin could stop her, she'd picked it up and started reading it. "Oh, God, not *that* one..." Daria looked up, having finished the short and pointed poem. "This is really good. This is the one you should go with, definitely." "I can't read that in front of everyone. It's too personal." "Exactly why you should read that one. That level of honesty is the one thing guaranteed to make everyone squirm...including O'Neill." Lynn allowed herself to be swayed. "Well...all right. But *you* have to go with `Killing Mommy.'" Daria raised a Spockian eyebrow. "I think I can handle that." * * * "`I told you that one day I'd take your life You didn't believe me Believe my knife.'" O'Neill looked rather green around the gills as Daria read the final stanza of her magnum opus. At the back of the room, Andrea Thorne wore an interested expression. Kevin was too busy trying to puzzle the humor out of a Garfield comic. Lynn, not looking up from her hit-man book, smirked and gave her double a thumbs-up sign. "Um..." an aghast O'Neill fought down his nausea long enough to say, "that was...very interesting...Daria." His desperate search for levity led him to take desperate measures. "Kevin? What have you got to share with us?" Kevin dropped his comics page and stood up eagerly. "Um...here goes. `My hot girlfriend's named Brittany Taylor/I tell you, man, I *love* to nail--'" O'Neill cut him off with a yelp. "Kevin! That's...not...quite the feeling I was hoping for when I brought up this assignment. I was thinking more...emotions." "Aw, man!" Kevin dropped into his seat as everyone snickered. Too stupid to realize they were laughing at him and not O'Neill, he smiled at everyone. O'Neill was reluctant to go on, but knew where lay his best chance at seeing talent after Daria. "Lynn?" Lynn marked her place in her book with a ruler, put it down carefully, and got to her feet with a sigh. "`In every school picture The smile grows smaller Marking the passage Brightness to bleak Cruelty of children Blows in the cloakroom Taunts in the schoolyard Always alone Moving through childhood Feeling imperfect Feeling abnormal Feeling despised Secret unfolded Life is not perfect Books said it would be God, how they lied.'" Dead silence fell over the class. You could have heard Kevin's IQ drop. The students were mostly wearing the stunned expressions of poleaxed oxen, except Kevin, who just looked confused, and Andrea, who looked a little impressed now. They were all staring at Lynn. She sat down slowly, carefully not making any sudden moves. O'Neill was sitting very quietly at his desk, eyes wide and damp, lower lip trembling. Suddenly, he bolted to his feet, knocking over his desk chair, and ran from the room, sobbing pitifully. The stunned silence continued; if anything, it deepened in the wake of his rather precipitate departure. "He's not coming back, is he," Lynn remarked to Daria. It wasn't really a question, so she didn't bother inflecting it as one. "I doubt it." The silence continued. "Class dismissed," Lynn said, adding after a moment, "Well, no one else was going to say it." * * * In the cafeteria, Daria and Lynn were sitting across the table from their other friend, artiste extraordinaire Jane Lane, telling her about the English class as they poked at their alleged food. "So he just...voom...took off?" Jane made the "airplane" hand motion. "Like the Concorde," Daria confirmed. "Guess my poem unlocked some of his inner demons for him," Lynn reflected, "and they ate him alive." She considered that for a moment. "That's kind of cool, when you think about it." "Well, at least I got a reaction this time. He really looked like he was going to scream. Or puke. Or both." "Well," Jane pointed out, "`Killing Mommy' is a classic." "It's had years to mature." They all thought about that for a moment. "So...what do you think he'll *do* to you after you made the poor marshmallow melt like that?" "Well, we're too good at what we do for him to just flunk us over this. I mean, we did the assignment to the best of our abilities." "Yeah," Lynn piped up. "After all, he was the one who told us to go where the feeling moved us. He didn't have to come along for the ride. It can't possibly be our fault that he didn't want to go where our feelings moved us." "And I guess his reaction kind of guarantees us an A. I mean, we moved him right out of the room." "And possibly his mind." "Did he ever have one to move out of?" Jane wondered. The Voice of Doom, otherwise known as Principal Angela Li, chose that moment to come over the school PA system. "Will Miz Lynn Cullen and Miz Daria Morgendorffer please report to the principal's office immediately!" "Oops. Should I start practicing for my debut as a courtroom sketch artist? Or should I just skip the preliminaries and take up knitting at the gallows?" Jane was half-joking, but the other half was genuinely worried. "It's the Green Mile for us, my friend," Daria said to Lynn in a deadpan tone. "We will never see another sunrise." "We ought to complain to the warden," came the reply. "That was a crappy excuse for a last meal, if you ask me." * * * In Ms. Li's inner sanctum, O'Neill was curled up in a soggy, sobbing heap in a chair next to the power behind the pantsuit, who sat behind her desk, ramrod-straight and ice-cold. Without waiting for her to offer, Daria and Lynn took seats and stared at her blithely. "Miz Morgendorffer, Miz Cullen," the principal led off, "I would like to know *exactly* what you did to reduce a member of *my* faculty to..." Nouns failing her, she simply gestured to the still-weeping self- esteem teacher. "Well, just *look* at him!" "He asked us to show emotion," Daria pointed out flatly. "Stoicism is our cover," Lynn added, equally deadpan. "Too much emotion from us tends to overwhelm mere mortals such as your faculty member O'Neill." "As you have seen, it isn't pretty." "Don't mock me!" Li snapped, obviously disgusted and *very* angry with them both. She sighed. "I know how much talent the both of you display, but I cannot see the merit in using it in a way that is so detrimental to the honor and the glory of...Laaawndale Hiiigh. Do you even realize that there are severe implications resulting from what you've done?" "Mr. O'Neill gets paid vacation for post-traumatic stress disorder?" Daria suggested. "Your plans for more bomb-sniffing dogs have to be put back a few months because of the cost of hiring a substitute?" Lynn offered. In a low, menacing tone, Ms. Li said, "I can have the both of you thrown into institutions for what you have wrought today." In sheer disbelief and near-perfect unison, Daria and Lynn asked, "Excuse me?" "I have spoken to Miz Manson about the worldview you present in your writing," their nemesis continued with a smug, evil expression. "I have also shown her examples of your work. She thinks that you, Miz Cullen, are a chronic depressive and are borderline suicidal. As for you, Miz Morgendorffer, she believes that you fit perfectly into the mold of a sociopath with homicidal tendencies." "Borderline suicidal?" Lynn asked Daria. "Homicidal tendencies?" Daria asked Lynn right back. Li coughed to get the girls' attention, then went on. "And she will testify to this before any court in the land, if I urge her to do so. She will *certainly* confirm those ideas to your parents, should I call them and let them know the havoc you have created. I could have you both committed at a whim." Lynn was beginning to catch on, but managed to maintain a level tone in reply. "But you won't...because you want something from us." "State your terms," Daria requested. "I have been made aware of an essay competition in _Waif_ magazine ...a `Love Me, Love My School' essay competition. You two are the most promising young writers here at...Laaawndale Hiiigh. You will write a five-thousand-word essay on the glory of the school...being sure to mention its administrator in glowing terms, of course." "And if we do this..." "If you agree to my terms, I will read your finished submission. If it is acceptable and properly respectful of the school, all paperwork relevant to this case will be burned and we will forget this entire unpleasant business of involuntary committal. Furthermore, if your submission wins the contest, I will ignore any and all future comments or complaints from Mr. O'Neill concerning your...bleak worldview." She went from carrot to stick, her tone from merciful to menacing, in an instant. "Now, do we have a deal...or do I start calling parents?" "This is known as blackmail, isn't it." It wasn't really a question. "Do you have a problem with that, Miz Cullen?" "No," Lynn shrugged. "I just like to know where I stand, is all." It *sucked* that this had come down so suddenly. With a little more warning, she could have been ready to play her ace in the hole. As it was, she was still working out how to use it, and not likely to have time to finalize her plans. "May I have a moment to confer with my colleague before we come to a final decision on this matter?" Li's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she had to know she had them where she wanted them. "You have two minutes. Make them count." Lynn dragged Daria out of her chair and into the far corner of the room. Ms. Li, a little worried, took a surreptitious swig from her silver hip flask. Could those little menaces find a way out of this? "The honor and the glory of Lawndale High?" Daria whispered, sarcastic and disbelieving. "Mentioning its administrator in glowing terms? What planet did she come from?" "This sucks," Lynn pointed out matter-of-factly. "Options." Daria thought for a moment. "It's our word against hers on the blackmail." "Do you think we ought to risk it? Would we stand a chance?" "About the same chance a snowflake stands in Hell. She's been buying the school board, piece by piece, for years." _"We appear to have outsmarted ourselves. I do that sometimes."_ She'd seen that in somebody's signature -- it was a quote from a book, if she remembered right. At the time, she'd thought it was pretty clever. Now she thought whoever wrote it should be dragged through flaming walls of rabid rattlesnakes. Lynn sighed. "I say we accept." "*What?* Are you insane? How are we supposed to write five thousand words about how great Lawndale High is?" "If we accept now, we'll have bought ourselves some time to think up a way out of this ... hopefully without having to abandon our principles and write the stupid essay." "And if we can't?" "Look, do you want her to call your parents and tell them -- backed up by an actual psychologist -- that you need a shrink?" At that moment, Daria finally saw the hole she was in. In morose tones, she admitted, "Mom's wanted me in therapy for years." Lynn, who'd already seen it, sighed. "Mine too. Let's face it; she's got us. We're stuck, Daria." "A decision, ladies?" Ms. Li's loud, sharp tones cut through the discussion. Lynn stepped up to the desk. "We accept your terms." "I thought you might," Li replied smugly. "You have two weeks to complete the essay and hand it directly to me. Now...go back to class and resuuume learning!" Daria and Lynn shared a miserable, trapped look as they leave. Ms. Li, satisfied with this turn of events, took a congratulatory swig from her hip flask. _In just fourteen days, those two troublemakers will cease to be a menace to the security of this school...one way or another._ * * * After school at Pizza King, Jane stared with concern at Daria and Lynn; the look-alikes were miserably picking the unidentifiable burnt things off their pizza. "You two have been awfully quite since Li got you at lunch." "Hmm," they replied in unison, sounding rather morose. Jane decided a good joke might prod some life back into her friends. "So, was it simple electroshock, or did she take out the thumbscrews?" Not even a small grunt in reply. Daria and Lynn continued to pick at their pizza, not looking at Jane or each other. Jane was starting to get genuinely worried now, but decided not to show it. "Hey, I rented the re-mastered _Exorcist_. Want to come to my house tonight and watch it with me? I hate watching these things alone." In her most tempting tone, she added, "And you can pretend it's Brittany's head spinning and spitting green goo." Still no reply. Jane's expression turned into a calculating smirk. "Oh, by the way, Trent, Max and Jesse have asked to triple-date with us. We were planning to grab a burger and then head out to the abandoned quarry for a serious make-out session. But don't worry -- Max is having the emergency brake on the Tank fixed specially for the occasion." To Jane's amazement, the girls *still* didn't react. Not a blush, not a frown -- nothing. "Oh, come *on,* you two!" Jane snapped, starting to get fed up with their silence and her own failure to break it. "I mean, you should have at least told me to go to hell by now!" A pause. "What did Ms. Li *do* to you two, anyway?" "Broke our spirits..." Daria replied. "Took our dignity..." Lynn added. "And has her jackboot on the throat of our only creative outlet." After a pause for thought, Jane had to admit, "I don't think I follow." "She ordered us to sing the school's praises. In writing. For publication nation-wide. In _Waif_ magazine." "Yeah," Jane had to admit, though, still a little confused, "that sounds like it really sucks...but how can she enforce that?" "If we don't," Lynn snapped, "she makes a few phone calls. Next thing you know, we're thrown into little rubber rooms where we wear white jackets that make us hug ourselves all day long and weave baskets." It finally hit her just how far down her throat she'd managed to shove her foot. _Jesus. I make jokes about electroshock and they might be looking at it for real._ She groped for words to make it up to them...and failed. "I have no response to that." "So now," Daria completed the infernal equation, "we have two weeks to bring out the laudable points of Lawndale High...and Ms. Li... or we get committed to an indeterminate amount of psychiatric Hell." "`Mrs Ratbag,'" Lynn muttered, halfway under her breath, "`if you don't mind my saying so, you are clearly in need of an expensive course of psycho-actric treatment. Now, I'm not saying a visit to our dairy can cure you, but it could provide hundreds of lower-paid workers with a good laugh.'" She noticed the lost looks she was getting from the other two. "Never mind. Anyway, not even Python can make this situation funny." "Like puppets can't make wacky morning DJs funny." Now it was Lynn's turn to look confused, but Jane just shrugged and went on. "So what's the problem? You two are used to fiction. Just lie through your teeth. It can't be that hard." The arctic temperature of the ensuing silence made Jane suddenly very aware of having said the wrong thing again. Daria was the first to speak. "I can't believe you said that, Jane. I mean, there's a principle involved here." "I..." Jane started to apologize. "Forget it. I'm out of here." Daria got up and walked out in something of a temper. "But..." "I don't believe you said that, Jane," Lynn accused. "I didn't..." "Excuse me, but Daria and I have go to throw our personal integrity and complete set of morals out the window." And she, also, left. "But...I..." Jane looked at the mostly uneaten pizza with growing misery. "Crap." * * * In Daria's padded room, she and Lynn put down their pencils, swapped notebooks, and skimmed each other's work. Then they sighed, tore off the sheet of paper from each notebook, crumpled it up, and tossed those crumpled papers in the wastepaper basket. * * * In the Lawndale High Cafeteria, Jane watched sorrowfully from a distance as Lynn and Daria leafed through a book together. Judging from its title, they weren't sanguine about their chances of escaping the loony bin: _How to Get the Most Enjoyment from Psychiatric Drug Therapy: A Guide to the Highs and Lows of Institutionalization_. * * * Daria and Lynn trudged dispiritedly past Ms. Li's open office door. Ms. Li stood in the doorway, smirking with her seemingly clinched victory. * * * Daria's wastepaper basket had filled to overflow. Daria was lying on her bed in the "something eating at my soul" pose. Lynn was reading _The Politician's Secrets Revealed: How to Lie without Really Lying_. "My brain is melting under the strain," the Cullen remarked morosely, "I've gone through two jars of instant coffee, and I've used the `Delete' key on my keyboard so often you can't read it anymore. Have we got anything that's even remotely useful?" "I'm in the same boat as you are," Daria replied, equally morose. "It's been a week, and I've had nothing...unless you count headaches, depression, and a really bad caffeine overdose two days ago. There is absolutely nothing laudable to say about Lawndale High School." "I figured as much. -- I'd feel better if we could at least think up a half-convincing lie." A bit more life came into Daria's voice as she replied, "I am not giving up my honest worldview just because some tyrant wants me in a different padded cell than the one I currently occupy." "Yeah." Lynn sighed. "And Ms. Li thought I was borderline suicidal before." She chuckled humorlessly. "She should see me now." "I'd sure like to show her a homicidal tendency or two." "Well, Daria," Lynn said slowly, a glimmer of hope shining out of the darkness as something she saw in her book presumbly took hold, "she *is* making us open to some unexplored parts of ourselves..." Daria caught on and replied in kind, speeding it up as she went. "Pushing us to our personal limits...encouraging us to strive for a common goal no matter how unattainable it may seem...giving two young writers a chance at publication at such a young age because of her implicit belief in our abilities." Lynn snickered. "This is *such* a load of faeces tauri." Daria let rise a cruel little Mona Lisa smile. "Feels good, doesn't it." * * * Students aren't usually allowed in the Lawndale High faculty lounge -- they might find out how depressing it is to be an adult. Just at the moment, though, it was deserted, so Lynn and Daria entered the room and look around. "Bad carpeting with huge stain on it," Daria inventoried the decor features, "Salvation Army furniture, `peace' foot decals on the walls..." Lynn converted this, per the techniques in her book, to something more palatable. "`A comfortable decor serving to remind the teachers of their own youthful outlook, which cannot help to produce a better understanding between teacher and student.'" "Where did you come up with that?" "They were young and stupid -- that's why they are where they are. They resent us for still being young enough to think we know it all and still having the opportunities they realize they threw away. We understand that. We resent them for treating us like garbage just because we were born two decades or so later than they were, and for thinking we have it better somehow. They understand that." Daria shrugged. "That's a kind of understanding." "The tricky part is mentioning the security camera, hidden mike and panic alarm." "`No expense spared to protect all contents from potential harm and loss'?" "That'll work. I like the way you avoided the word `theft.'" "It's a gift." * * * The English classroom was also deserted. Lynn and Daria sat on top of their desks and looked around. "Moldy books, print date 1965?" Lynn asked. "`Bona fide classics.'" "The `surprise' pop quiz he gives every other Friday?" "`An easy and clear-cut approach to the examination process.'" "Teacher absent due to nervous breakdown?" Daria smiled another Mona Lisa smile. "Open learning." * * * The science classroom still had I AM MALE, THEREFORE I SUCK written on its chalkboard over and over again from Ms. Barch's latest attempt to help Mack overcome his self-esteem. "`Whereas science is traditionally a study of the male of the species perpetrated entirely by males,'" Lynn observed, "`Lawndale High School has a female science teacher who attempts to redress the balance of a male-oriented profession by teaching things from a more feminine perspective.'" "Works for me. Damn, we're good." * * * Daria was seated on the floor of Lynn's room while Lynn herself sat at a large ornate L-shaped desk by the window, tapping on a Microsoft (tm) ergonomic keyboard. "We've still come up with nothing on Ms. Li," Lynn pointed out. "Give me an overview of her best-known qualities and we'll see what we can come up with." "Ruthless, dictatorial...knowing I won't be sued for slander, I'll go with Nazi-like. Rules are made to be followed...except when it's her." "That's easy. `Follows a high-quality standard of leadership with flawless rigidity...but willing to show a certain necessary level of flexibility when circumstances demand it.' Anything else?" "Excessively paranoid." "`Fully conscious of her responsibilities for the well-being of all aspects of student welfare.'" "Embezzles every penny she can get her hands on." "`Aware of the fiscal responsibilities inherent in her position and makes the best use possible of existing funds.'" "From a certain point of view." "Yeah. Hers. And it's her we're worried about." "Point taken." * * * Jane was in the art room, working on a piece of very dark and melancholy abstract art, when Daria and Lynn entered, so she had her back to them and didn't notice until Lynn spoke to the room in general. "Haven of honesty, we salute you!" She turned around then, rather quickly, surprised. Daria and Lynn didn't notice, however, being too busy rummaging around the room looking for things to write about. "Don't be so sure," Daria warned her doppleganger. "Remind me to tell you about when Jane and I got roped into the `Student Life at the Dawn of a New Millennium' poster contest." "Attack of the Nazi Jackboot?" "Yep." She looked in a closet. "Here we have meager amounts of cheap art supplies. Your turn." "Hmm...that's a tricky one, all right. How about, `Teaching the starving artist to live and work by his or her means.'" "Needs work." "Yeah...maybe `A room where creativity is not determined by materials but is held within the artist's fertile mind. Art courses include a solid grounding in many artistic schools of thought, including the idea of minimalism.'" "That sounds more like it. We should go into politics." _We're certainly creating the illusion of depth._ Jane accidentally dropped her paintbrush, and they turned to face her. "Hi, Jane," Lynn said awkwardly. "Hey," Daria added, equally awkward. "Yo," Jane chimed in, just as awkwardly as the other two. There was a pause, during which they thought they could feel the universe age a little. Lynn held out her notebook. "Comments for `Operation Faeces Tauri'?" "We're out of black paint. -- And I'm sorry?" Daria accepted the apology. "Yeah." "Yeah," Lynn agreed. Jane just had to know. With a wry expression, she inquired, "`Operation Faeces Tauri'?" "Excreta of male bovine." Jane got it, smirking one of her evil smirks. "Oh, I *see!* Can I have a look?" Daria handed over a thick pile of paper. "Not far to go now. We've hit the four thousand word mark already and we've still managed to keep it honest." "From a certain point of view, anyway," Lynn pointed out. "You will find," Jane remarked as she prepared to turn to the papers, "that a great many things in life entirely depend on your point of view." "Bad _Star Wars_ misquote." "But it's mine." Then she began to read. Her facial expressions went from confusion to an evil mocking grin and back again. Once she even laughed out loud. Eventually, however, she hit something she just *had* to have cleared up for her. "Okay, even I don't understand this one, you two. You said honest." "Yeah," Daria confirmed. "How do you figure Mrs. Bennett as `A fine demonstrator of the nation's economic standing and future development?'" "No one understands her diagrams. Kind of like the stock market and the Dow Jones averages." "And at the end of the day," Lynn completed the analogy, "everything of even potential value is wiped off the board, leaving the hungry masses with squat." Jane shook her head and chuckled quietly to herself. "I shouldn't have told you that you had to lie. You two make me damn proud." Neither Daria nor Lynn was comfortable with so much praise, which led to an awkward pause. "Um," Daria said by way of breaking the silence, "we'll be done by the end of school today. Feel like hitting Pizza King later?" "Sounds good. We'll celebrate your escape from the lion's jaws in style." "Just as long as it's nothing like the celebration of earning ourselves our pizza money," Lynn warned her. Jane conceded the point. "Just us girls." "Cool." Turning away, she noticed the painting. "Oh, love the canvas. New?" "Yeah. I think this one's going to be yet another Lane unfinished wonder. My inspiration for it's pretty well out the window now." They shared sheepish looks. * * * In her room, Jane was painting, Lynn was reading _Pass Hospital-Grade Psychiatric Evaluations First Time: a Depressive's Guide to Staying Out of Straitjackets!_, and Daria was channel-surfing. "Nope." Click. "Nope." Click. "Hmm...nope." Click. "God, what *is* this soppy crap? -- When's _Sick, Sad World_ on again?" "The season ended last week," Jane reminded her, "and the reruns don't start for another two. Don't worry -- I've got tapes." "Great." "So you two actually did it? No more threats of the wacky ward?" "We watched Mrs. Manson's report burn in Ms. Li's wastepaper basket. Our poems got A's, but the titles and the poems themselves were mysteriously lost." Lynn added, "Ms. Li was so impressed with our optimistic view of the school that she figured O'Neill was probably overreacting anyway." "So what's with the book?" Jane wondered. "Always hope for the best while expecting the worst. I don't trust her, so I thought I'd be prepared just in case. Oh, here, Daria -- I found you this." She rummaged through her bag and produced another book, this one subtitled _A Sociopath's Guide to Staying Out of Strait- jackets!_. "There's a whole series of them, actually." "You have got to tell me where you shop," Daria insisted. "Next time you're over, I'll go on-line and show you the URL." "Do they have anything on how to paint a really realistic-looking mauling?" Jane wondered. "Maybe. I've never been much into the visual arts." "So anyway," she grinned wryly, "think you'll win the contest?" "God help us if we do," Daria sighed. "I don't want the whole country reading `Operation Faeces Tauri.' They might actually think that Lawndale was a great place to live." Jane smirked evilly. Lynn rising to Daria's defense and her own. "Hey, we never told a single lie...just retouched the truth a little." "Just like presidents `retouch the truth' about their lives `a little' just before election, right?" As one voice, Daria and Lynn replied, "Go to Hell, Lane." Jane smiled a genuine smile. "Great to have you back, you two." ADAPTOR'S NOTES Those of you who've read the script versions know about Lynn's ace in the hole. I decided one of the things I needed to do was come up with a few reasons why she didn't play that ace just yet. I'd like to thank the Canadibrit herself for helping with that, and specifically for pointing out how pivotal the Psycho-Maverick was to the execution of "Operation Ace of Spades" when the time came. The "We appear to have outsmarted ourselves" quote is from David Eddings' _Demon Lord of Karanda_. The suggested punishment was coined by Berke Breathed's _Bloom County_ character Milo Bloom as something that should be done to Steve Dallas. The Python quote is real; the only part of it I'm not 100% sure about is the proper name "Ratbag." It's spoken by Eric Idle as the psychiatric milkman, to (if my memory serves) Terry Jones as a Pepperpot lady. If you don't understand Jane's reply, you obviously missed "Jake of Hearts." Jan liked my contribution enough to find a place in the story where it fit better. Another of those vicious things. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd., and it's probably high time I gave them their legal due. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not- for-profit context of fan-fiction. The character of Lynn Cullen is copyright 1999 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson, as is this storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day.