It was a completely rigid meeting of the Fashion Club. There was to be no deviation from the script. After five tablets of
King-Hell Crank, Stacy was sufficiently jittery. Tiffany practiced her dopiness by taking up Transcendental Meditation;
she was now at the point where she was in meditation twenty-four hours a day. Quinn and Sandi had the least work to do, they just had to figure out something to fight about.

"Fellow members of the Fashion Club", said Sandi, hand between her legs, diddling off on her fashion consciousness. "We must discuss the newest article in Waif. About Imperial Donuts."

"I-i-imperial donuts?", moaned Stacy.

"Dooooooo...nuts?", said Tiffany, her mind on the sixth celestial alpha plane, far away. Where a powerful man with big muscles was making love to her twenty-four hours a day. Tiffany had abandoned the mind, she prayed to the Buddha that her body would be next.  This world. So hollow. So much misery.

"Why SANNNN-di," yelped Quinn, "I'm sooooo glad YOUUUUU were going to talk about Imperial Donuts! You're such a great president!!"

"Right, bitch! Now, as I was saying...there are these, like, donuts, and they're like, so imperial...."

"B-but...why are they so imperial? I...uh...didn't understand the article?"

"Yeahhhhhhh," said Tiffany. Imperial donuts...hmm...making hot monkey love in a truck full of Imperial Donuts...whatever they were.

"Sta-ci! You like, don't understand. These, are, like, *imperial*, *donuts*!"


"Imperial. Donuts. Imperial. Donuts." Sandi put the hairy eye on Stacy.

"I...yeah, Sandi! Imperial Donuts!!" Stacy loved Imperial Donuts! Now, and forever!! Whatever they were!!

"So, what kind of Imperial Donuts should we have, Sandi?", asked Quinn.

"I would say...our donuts should be the most Imperial Donuts in Lawndale! Unless Yooouuuuu have a better idea!"

"Well, duh!! Of *course* our donuts should be Imperial Donuts! Why you wouldn't expect *us* to have anything to do with non-imperial donuts like the unpopular people!!", said Quinn. She would have bigger, bouncier, firmer, and more popular Imperial Donuts than anyone. Even Sandi! That little minx needed to be tied up and spanked within an inch of her life! Repeatedly! By her! Through the next four sequels, if they were ever written.

"Then we agree. We follow the instructions of the article."

"Donuts?", said Tiffany.

"Yes," smiled Sandi. "*Donuts*. Imperial. Donuts. Which means that tonight...we all have to drop acid."


Quinn slapped Stacy.


"Yes. You are a member of the Fashion Club. You will please present your ear for Piercing Inspection."

Oh boy!!, Stacy thought. My ears are soooooo pierced! Now that I obey them completely, they'll *love* me!

Sandi reached into her purse and pulled out the bottle. The bottle had a screw-on cap which doubled as an eyedropper. The substance in the bottle was a dark indigo Prussian blue, which squirmed like a thousand mewling snakes. Sandi reached over to Stacy's ear, took the dropper, and dispensed one blue drop in Stacy's right ear.

"Eap! What was *that*?"

Sandi smiled, death's head incubus. "Soon, you'll know. Soon, you'll know *everything*. Now, it's Tiffany's turn."

"Donuts," whispered Tiffany, vaguely, sweet lollipop lips to kill for, you beautiful raven-headed import of vaguely Asian extraction, the true percieve, logical light radiant, removing burdens and being, lord mother of us all. Sandi added a special drop to Tiffany's tongue, take this drop for it is my body.

Sandi got all skeletor, all ugly, anger turning her scapulae into  a coathanger. "Oh, bitchy Quinn, it's your turn!!"

"Oh, SANNN-di! I could *never* be as bitchy as you!" Quinn opened her mouth and closed her eyes, hoping to get a big surprise.

Sandi drew up a big walloping walloping drop. She squirted it into her right eye. "Oh! Sorry Quinn!! Gee, I must have made a *mistake!*" She would have jammed the bottle up Quinn's ass, but there were witnesses.

"And is time to open the safe of light." With that, Sandi took an eyedrop, 140,000 hits guaranteed or your money back. And then, it was preppie-prep time.

It was time for the Fashion Club to come face to face with the truth.  For, surely as happens in these kinds of stories, this was no ordinary bottle of Prussian Blue Ink, which gives a most inferior high, let me tell you! It! was! LSD!! Mickey Mouse Blue Tabs straight from Owsley's lab!!

They sat around. "Shit, nothing's happening at all. Fuck Upchuck. Fuck that little turd monkey with a sailor's monkeywrench!", shouted Sandi. "Five hundred bucks down the drain!" Would she ever earn that much on her back again?

" a good color," moaned Tiffany.

"Quiet, Pink Floyd!," said Sandi. Hey...something was happening! This rocked! Not only would Sandi have a most excellent high, she had her high before Quinn got hers. Score one for the alpha female.

"Heh! I'm...FLOATING!!", squealed Sandi. It was true. The other members of the Fashion Club were rapidly shrinking in perspective...and her shoes were getting bigger! And there were...clouds in the air, super silver super chief clouds, Sandi feeling the cold blow of Borealis like a long lost Greek lover. They were shrinking! She was flying! She might come!!

"Oh, Quinnnnnn," slurred Sandi, "it's BEAUTIFullllllllll!!! I'm flying!!"

Quinn tried to make sense of it all. Sandi seemed to be sitting right where she always was. She imagined that Sandi was a Buddhist, about to immolate herself with gasoline over that Vietnam thing that Deep Dave was talking about. Deeeeeep Dave.

"'s SOOOOOO good!! I can barely see you all!!" Stacy's pigtailed mug receded temporarily into a point of light. Hmm, thought Sandi. I can't be flying so high?

It was then that she heard the Thundercrack. It was an ancient Norse god, his chariot drawn to the Dick Clark beat of two red-haired goats. "Little Midgardian, watch the ceiling of the mead hall!! Hahahahahahahh!!!!"

Sandi looked up. There were no more clouds. It was a ceiling, she could smell the oak and the wet pine and the scruffy cobwebs and the scuffling dustbunnies. Soon, her head would intersect with an ancient beam.

"Noooooooo!!!!!!!!! I'm gonna CRrrrrrrrraAAAAAAASHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Quinn! Tiffany! Anybody!!!"

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!!!", screamed Stacy. "We're all going to go crazy!!"

"I'm going crazy trying to get this shit out of my eye," muttered Quinn.

"Motherfuckers!", shouted Sandi. "Someone get me down from here!!!"

"...down....yeaaaahhhhh...down." Tiffany was down with Jeff Lynne and the celestial trumpets of Electric Light Orchestra. She was being passed around like currency by the members of the band. It was March 23, 1978, somewhere in Wembley. But, she didn't protest as she could tell they were really good people. When Jeff Lynne took off his skin, she could tell that there were golden flecks running from his brain to the base of his spinal cord, that the healing touch of his hands provided ecstacy. The album cover was real, they were all in a spaceship, loving each other, sharing with each other. Now, what was someone muttering about? Fashion Club? What was that again? Something about incest with Sandi's mom?

"Quick!", shouted Stacy. "Someone get some rope!"

Quinn's heart skipped a beat. Did she remember how to tie a hangman's noose? Let's see, you add how many inches to the drop for each 14 pounds? Goddamn it, she wasn't good at math. Did she dare to live her fantasy? She would pop an apple in Sandi's mouth. Three hundred degrees, and makes a delicious gravy!

"I'lllll....getttttt...the dictionary....", said Tiffany. There would be something in there about this stuff. She wondered off into the next room.


Abacus. Abacus. Abacus.

Something was kicking in. To Tiffany, it was extentionate bliss, not merely a prolonging of what was, but its disassembly and perpetual reassembly, the joy of creation and distruction, Krishna and Shiva in each part and parcel of that with which she came in contact.

The abacus. Yes, Tiffany had definitely seen the abacus before. The celestial abacus, the counting and uncounting of sins, where the hand of Christ, with one mighty swoop of his nail scarred hands, would push all of the little wooden counters to one side, account cleared, forever and ever. She looked at Christ. "Tiffany Blum-Deckler?", he asked.

"Yea?", she moaned.

"I love you. Did you know that?"


"That's okay. You should be with Them. They need your health. You cannot escape here all the time, little one. This is a dream. See how they drag you to the waking world?" When she saw Christ, he was surrounded by a hundred Prussian blue snakes, then a thousand.

She screamed! NO!! THE CRUCIFIXION OF CHRIST!!! But he turned each of the snakes into a million blue poppies. "Here is a beautiful blue poppy for beautiful blue Tiffany!", Christ said, smiled, all feminine as if off the cover of Vogue.

The flowers exploded from his burning heart, his Christ consciousness. She took one, she was smothered in them, how could she refuse this holy gift. She took the abacus in her hand and began counting the poppies, one-two-three, when the abacus moved under its own power and did the work for her.

Beautiful Blue Tiffany! From now on she would be Beautiful Blue Tiffany! She looked down at her blue dress, her blue skin, throbbing blue like the pulse of the sky itself, all veins, all Kentucky blue grass.

In our world run by The Alcoholic Boy Prince, Tiffany held the book to herself, the abacus, the counting of her consciousness kernel by kernel, the wires held together by her love and each bead a beautiful blue bead of friendship. She saw through them all, all of them. Stacy's need for love, she would love her, they would be naked, but there would be no sexual component, "I love you and you love me...take of my spirit, Stacy." Quinn's need for adoration, "Quinn, come off the pedestal and let me take you to my beautiful blue world!" Nothing could be done for poor Sandi's need for power. So powerful, and yet so small inside.

She had to tell them. But she had to get to the end of the book. Find the right words. The right worlds. The next world also began with "a".....


Quinn waited. And waited. "Jesus Christ, Sandi, you've fucked up again," she thought, as she began tying Sandi to the table with masking tape and unabashed glee.

"Quinn! Don't you want to tie ME up?", Stacy moaned, willing to abase herself once again.

"Stacy, if I told you to wear a bell up your ass, you would do it."

"Uh...would it be a BIG bell?"

"Go help Tiffany."

Tiffany was rolling about on the corner, all wet on the outside, while she swam through the warm waters unknown to you or I where she would do the Dance of the Abalone.

"Ewwwwww!", replied Stacy.

"QUINN!" someone shouted.

"What is it?"

"QUINN!! QUINN!! QUINN!!!" The shouts came in heartbeat cadence.

"Who's talking?" Stacy looked about. She didn't seem to be hearing anything.


"Swamp Thing? Like, aren't you just a bad TV show?"

"BEWARE THE POWER OF THE SWAMP THING!!!" One of the ferns in Quinn's room began to grow, rapidly, exponentially until everything was covered in fern, fern up to your ears and out your nose and your ass.

"AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!", shouted Quinn as she began to run about the room, slowly, as if she were in some large forest, pushing through imaginary fern trees and fern flowers and the ferm amber waves of fern grain until she got the fuck out. To make matters worse, Quinn locked the door from the outside, using the special key of convenience that is only found in the special, wonderful tales that you're reading right now. You should feel lucky, warm inside.

"Nooooo!!", shouted Stacy! "Don't leave me here!!" Tiffany was caked out cold beyond consciousness rising in the corner. Sandi was tied to a table offering coffee, tea and me to the Norse Gods.


Quinn ran down the hallway. Every light bulb EXPLODED
in a dirt bomb of kaledioscopic color, bombs off to disorient straight society.

Run down the hallway, the voice told Quinn.

The hallway stretched forever, stretched into an infinite Moebius loop, a Klein bottle, Quinn trapped on the inside and outside, in two dimensions, in zero dimensions, forever and ever


Scream unloosed reality from the drawstring of the pants of the universe.

She made it into the room of The Shemale. The Lesbian Cousin From Indiana.

Now she saw it for what it was!! Bars!! Bars from another dimension!!

"Hello, cousin," said the she-male. She had a smile, a cruel smile on her face.

The Art Slut stood beside her. Demon Woman from Mars with Plastic Black Helmet. "Yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo (yo yo yo yo yo) yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo, Daria!" Quinn reached for the doorknob, which slid down the door as a liquid brass drop.

"W--?", said the Shemale, words being to precious to use on the Fashion Slut.

"Let's do -- "

" -- ?"


"noooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!", screamed Queen Quinn. She tried to escape, but the room slid around in a hundred directions, the arms of the Two Unpopular People giant directional signs "Only Three Miles to Quinn!" She could never escape. Never never never never never.

And her mind gave up the ghost.


In the outback of Europe over twenty thousand years ago, the five elders waited. Each of them was as old as time. They were the old men of the tribe.

The young man had been circumcised, had given up his foreskin, had survived the torturous rites of manhood which, all together, make a smashing film. Oh, if you could see it! It would have put Jeff Stryker to shame!

"The hand is now closed. Do not cut the hand," said one elder. The young man nodded, not knowing what the elder was talking about, almost as if he had accidentally bookmarked the website.

"Take of the root of the moon tree."

"Take of the children of the root of the moon tree."

"Yadda yadda", said the young man, following the prescribed tribal ritual.

"Harumph", said the elder. "And now it's time to partake of the children of the moon."

They looked like little shrunken brown dicks turned to beef jerky. It was some of the most potent mushrooms you ever seed in yo life! I tell you, back in the Good old Days, a 'shroom was a 'shroom.

The young man had no choice. He would partake of the wholey communion. He took one of the smaller-dicked children of the moon in his mouth, and chewed.

It tasted like he was eating grass. Not Acapulco Gold or Maui Wowie, but grass grass. Pungent, green, soiled. He knew SOME of the ritual but not what it all meant, its cogent constant or anything like that.

"Now my son," said the elder, who might indeed have been his father..."you can stare into the fire.”  Aside from the good dope, there wasn't really much to the ceremony.


Stacy cried bitter tears. Sandi was strapped to the kitchen table. Tiffany was saying a lot of words that began with the letter "A". And there was a lot of screaming upstairs, and it sounded like Quinn.

Tears of bitter pain. "I've tried so hard to be popular!", she sobbed. "How come I couldn't freak out and lose my fucking mind like everyone else?"

Something smelled nice. Mmmmmm. She figured she would see things, or maybe even feel things...but SMELL things? Eh?

A nice smell. One that reminded her of roast chicken. Like a nice barbecue. Barbecue and hairspray. Why...say...why was it so HOT in here?

She looked down. Her pumps were on fire.

And now, the obligatory :


With the hotfoot, Stacy ran about the room like a Pokemon rattling around in a dice cup. The room was exploding into flame! Hot, burning power of flame, flame enough to scald, to destroy. Everything was melting...

And she was on fire. Like, this was so unfair! She just didn't like to stand out! I mean, if Quinn was on fire or if Sandi said that being on fire was fashionable, then she'd be GLAD to be on fire, like, she would be the cutest person on fire and stuff!! but NOW she was on fire and she didn't know if anyone else was on fire and, like, she could just die, it was like the time she wore flannel to school on the day Waif came out with the "Grunge is Dead" issue. Luckily her mother got the pills away from her on time.

As the fire consumed her feet, legs, and cutey tummy, she thought, oh, if I had only worn something that, like, GOES with fire!! And oblivion was sweet, and spent like burnt cordite....


Ungawa noted that the fire had died down. The elders were no longer with him. He was...somewhere. Somewhere removed. It must have been a special Spirit Fire. It must be part of the ceremony, something they didn't tell him about.

For some reason he felt pretty. Pretty, and witty, and gay. He looked down at his feet, which, for some reason, did not look like HIS feet, but were trapped in some sort of tight constricting hide. He was wearing some sort of ceremonial loincloth, but...what did he feel underneath?

He reached underneath. His penis had disappeared, and he had parts to his chest which he did not have. This was definitely the Spirit World! His father told him that he must go into the Spirit World and bring back proof of his visit to the Elders before he would become a man. Until then, he would remain a woman, in the spirit world.

The hides felt itchy, and he resolved to discard them, as soon as possible. He stepped out of the foot hides, and ripped at the other hides which bedecked his female form. He could not tell the purpose of any of the things he carried, nothing looked like a fetish or anything useful. The tough hide with the pockets that covered his breasts was particularly restraining, and he ripped it off, leaving red lines across his back. The loincloth was soft, comfortable. He would keep it. It looked nice, he smelled like wildflowers.

Now, he was free, and barefoot and nearly-naked, he gazed at several objects he could not recognize. He was in a cave of some sort. The light was harsh, like sunlight but not like sunlight. There were all kinds of items, or shapes, or square shapes strung about the floor, and he understood none of it, some odd hill which climbed up and he could not feel the breeze nor the cold of the night sky. What was this odd place? What God created it?

As he stepped forward, light from the artificial sky, the sky he could touch, blinded him with brilliance, much brighter than the light of the moon. This place had its own sun, but the sky had shrunk to the proportion of a cave. The Gods must live in a cave, he thought, trying not to draw conclusions.

Something was here. Something that was not him.

He stepped forward, wanting his stone knife, but it was not nearby. He looked for a knife, a weapon, anything. Then...he saw it.

A *knife*.

It was long, about six inches, sharp. Ungawa felt the sharpness of the blade. It was not as sharp as his knife, but the surface was more regular, it seemed more dependable, a knife of the Gods. He would have to remain alert to survive.

So now he was armed against whoever else was in this cave with him. He stepped forward, his heart now beating faster, eager to confront whatever the Gods had in store for him.

Instead, he found another female. She had dark hair and her skin was the color of wheat. She did not look like one of his people, but she smiled. When she smiled, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She clutched a small, square object to her chest. She was giggling. Her eyes looked at something that was not there.

She muttered something, some secret. "", he asked.

"A byo gen uh ses," she said. "A byo gen us ses." What did it mean? Her starry eyes kept the secret. Ungawa tried to speak again, but she repeated the mantra. Was it a charm? A charm against protection? Was it what he faced? It meant nothing in his tongue.

She was harmless, but vulnerable. Perhaps a kindred spirit, trapped here like him? A *male* spirit? He shook off the implications, and stepped forward.

Something rested in the corner. It did not stand. Instead, a supine form, lying on some sort of rock in the room. Ungawa crept forward, knife in hand, ready to strike.

It was another female. Trapped.

It made noises like a sick cow and wasn't as pretty as the other one. It seemed to be trapped on the rock. Ungawa's knife wasn't strong enough to cut the ropes. He pulled, and strained.

"Tur bu lenz. O lyk noh, tur bu lenz!", she shouted, or seemed to shout, her eyes aflame. Gen uh ses. Tur bu lenz. Charms unknown, but possibly, worth remembering.

He sat down, and through. She was trapped. He would be unable to rescue her. Perhaps, there was some other solution. Why was he here?

There was something coming up from higher up. Some voice. Ungawa prostrated himself. It was a voice from beyond the small sky. UP.

After a while, nothing happened. But the voice could still be heard. To his right, he saw a small hill which led to some other part of the sky. If he climbed the hill, he could get closer to whatever the god was trying to tell him.

NOW he would receive the answer. This was why he was here. He would be a MAN.

Then, there came a pounding. A pounding from somewhere, as if it were the sound of drums or logs colliding in water. Ungawa's head turned to the left. Some thing brown and square, and the pounding came from beyond. A small metal orb was connected to the square and it made a rattling, ominous sound.

"heh qwihn hoap uh nup!", he heard. What the hell did THAT mean! They were MEN, or something thick, masculine, massive outside. They sounded angry. The rattling continued.

Ungawa now knew why he was here. The women were under a charm in heaven. The voice of god could be reached by climbing the hill, but devils were also here, if the voices beyond the metal orb were devils. Ungawa would have to do battle. He would kill all of the devils. Then, he would become a man at last. Ungawa stabbed at the metal with his knife. Then, he struck at the metal with his hand....


"Like, Jeffy, did you bring the beer?"

"Whoa dude," Jeffy said. "We are going to get so fucked up!"

"And then...up fucked!", answered Joey, a king high forty-ounce buzz on line. He, Jeffy, and the other one were going to make out with Quinn and the Slut Club. At least, he hoped it would happen THIS time as opposed to the other 193 times it didn't happen.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," said Jamie. "My first orgy!" The six-pack of Schlitz would soon do all the talking it needed to.

"Hey, Quinn!! Open up!! Let us in!! We, like, have a whole bottle of Thunderbird!"

The door began to rattle. "All right men," Joey said, "time to be cool".

It seemed like forever before the door opened. Joey tried turning the knob but there seemed to be some problem on the other side. "Like....HEY!", he said, making what was for him a deep, meaningful comment full of philosophical meaning.

It was Stacy. She was down to nothing but her panties.

"YEAHHHH!!!!", shouted Jamie.

"WHOAAAAAA!!!!!", shouted Jeffy.

"COOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!!!", shouted Joey. He began singing his favorite song.
"Who let the dogs out? -- woof!! Woof Woof!!! --- "


Ungawa saw them. Three of the ugliest trolls he had ever seen! They looked
big and stupid and one of them was licking his lips and grunting!!



"Ggen uh ses!!", shouted Stacy, driving what appeared to be an Excalibur
letter opener into Jeffy's collarbone.

As Jeffy went down like a poleaxed deer, Stacy shouted at the top of her lungs!

"Tur bu LENZ!!", Stacy screamed, in a deep basso voice, chopping off Jamie's left ear with the opener.

It was about this time that Joey figured out something was horribly wrong.
Which was about the time that Stacy grabbed Joey's crotch and raised the knife high. As for Joey,

"Joey, with his doublet all unbraced,
No hat upon his head, pale as his shirt,
His knees knocking each other, and with a look
So piteous in purport as if he had been loosed
Out of hell to speak of horrors --- "

...hauled ass.


Daria and Jane, our two secret Patty Duke Sisterly Spies With A Special Relationship, made it back to the Stately Morgendorffer Manor.

"Hm," said Jane, "those were the best Imperial Donuts I've ever had."

"Imperial Donuts?", said Daria, falling in. "I didn't think they were IMPERIAL Donuts."

"Listen, you boyfriend-stealing bitch whore. Those were IMPERIAL Donuts. I found them in Trent's pants."

"Damn. Tom never has Imperial Donuts."

"That's because he watches anime."

"Fuck. You're right." No one who watched anime would EVER have Imperial Donuts. Daria wondered if Kevin had Imperial Donuts. "As Jean-Paul Sartre said -- "

" -- holy sweet Jesus fuck!!!"

One comedy point for Jane. That line was going to be one hard to top, thought Daria, although it lacked the subtle comedic "partner" impact that Jane was known for, Jane being much better at the set-up than the punch line. "Come again?"

Jane pointed.

The Morgendorffer house was surrounded by police and a couple of ambulances.

"Oh, this is nothing. Dad probably started talking about the Masons again. Usually the zoo comes with the tranq gun and they leave in about twenty minutes."

"No, aside from that."

Daria decided to look at the scene from Hieronymous Bosch.

The paramedics were hauling out Tiffany, who had worked her way back to "ablution". She was trying to make out with the EMT guy, and the other EMTs were setting up a raffle.

Sandi was still strapped to the table. She was being ignored, because fuck it, there was some justice in this world.

Stacy was fighting off the firemen, standing on the roof, slashing away with her letter opener. The police were calling in reinforcements, warning officers that the suspect was armed and extremely cute.

"Must have been some fucking party," muttered Daria. Jamie ran past the two of them; he was covered in blood. Jeffy followed, holding what appeared to be an ear.

Daria and Jane exchanged the Secret Look of Hassan. They stepped into the house. God knows what they would find inside.

"Okay," said Daria, counting. "I saw Tiffany, and Sandi, and Stacy...that leaves Quinn."

"Hey, yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo yo Quinn!!!", shouted Jane. "Yo yo yo --- "

Daria smacked Jane so hard her momma felt it.

"Quinn! If I catch you in my room you're going to taste tube socks for a week!"

No answer. Then, a door opened. Jane and Daria exchanged look number two, and prepared to do battle.

Then, at the foot of the stairway, they saw...HER come down.

It was Quinn. But it was not the Quinn they knew.

Quinn had removed her makeup. She was wearing Daria's spare pair of glasses. Quinn furthermore was decked out in the entire Daria uniform. Green jacket. Orange tee. Black pleated skirt, and Doc Martens boots. She probably was wearing black socks, a sports bra, and those ugly fifteen cent panties, too.

Quinn came closer and closer. Jane's pupils dilated. Daria just stared.

Daria came face to face with her doppleganger. For five seconds, they stared off.

Finally, Quinn spoke. "Do you have any Imperial donuts?", she said, voice monotone.

Daria answered, "No."

"Sod off, then," said Quinn. With that, she picked up her .38 and blew a hole right through the heart of Daria Morgendorffer, requesciat in pace.

Quinn silently turned to Jane, Daria-like. "Do YOU have any Imperial donuts?"

Jane thought about it. "Why...yes, I do. In Trent's pants."

Quinn smiled. "This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she said, as they both stepped over Daria's dead body and out the door.