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 now...it 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?
"Blue...is....suuuuuuuuch 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
"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.
"Yes...it'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!!
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
"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
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
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
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
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.
"I AM THE SWAMP THING! DO NOT BRING YOUR EVIL HERE!!"
"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
"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
"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 www.quantonics.com 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,
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
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
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
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.
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
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!!
AND NOW HE WOULD BECOME A MAN!!
"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 --- "
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?"
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
"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
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.