Nuthouse
Text ©2009 The Angst Guy (theangstguy@yahoo.com)
Daria and associated
characters are ©2009 MTV Networks
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com
Synopsis: Dinnertime visitors at the Morgendorffer home prove
that Jake was right about one thing after all.
Author’s Notes: This story works best as a “third-season”
tale for reasons that will become all too clear. The reader is assumed to have
a working knowledge of the major characters from the Daria series, so personal introductions are not given in the story.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone on PPMB who read this and
suggested that I might need professional help.
*
“Jane,
I’m so glad you could stay over and have dinner with us tonight!” Helen said
brightly as she brought the dish of freshly microwaved leftover pasta to the
dinner table. “With the deal Jake got on frozen lasagna from his last client,
we’ve got plenty for weeks to come!”
“Yes,”
said Daria in a mournful deadpan. “Aren’t we the lucky ones.”
“Thank
you, Mrs. Morgendorffer,” Jane replied, eyeing the steaming lasagna with
visible unease. “I’ll see if I can return the favor and have all of you over
one night, once I can get back into my house.”
“And
learn to cook,” Daria mumbled, then suddenly jumped and cried, “Ouch!”
“Sorry,”
Jane mumbled back. “Didn’t know that was your foot.”
“So,
will it be long before it’s safe to go in your house again?” Quinn asked,
trying not to look at the bubbling meal, “or am I gaining a new sister?”
“A new
sister, no,” said Jane, stifling a cough. “The pest control man said the house
would be fine tomorrow night, after the bug bombs and rodent bombs and mutant
slime bombs have cleared everything out. When Trent gets back from the Mystik
Spiral tour, I’ll have a few words with him about not taking out the garbage
for two months.”
“Mutant slime, eww!” Quinn looked down at the lasagna and
shivered. “Mom, where’s Dad?”
“Oh,
that man. He’s puttering with something in the garage. Daria, would you tell
him dinner’s ready?”
“I think
he knows,” said Daria. “That’s why he’s in the garage.”
“Daria,
stop that! Go find your father.”
Daria
sighed and was leaving the kitchen when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she
called on her way out. “It might be someone selling food.”
Helen
rolled her eyes and looked apologetically at Jane. “I don’t know what gets into
her sometimes,” she said.
“I don’t
know what gets into her, either,” said Jane, staring at the lasagna with dread.
“I mean,
honestly,” said Helen, “do you ever talk to your parents the way Daria talks to
us?”
“No,”
said Jane, “but then again, my parents are almost never home.”
They
heard the front door open, followed by a long silence.
“Who is
it, Daria?” Helen called.
After a
pause, Daria called back—in a strained voice—“It’s a squirrel.”
“A squirrel?”
“Does it
have any food?” Quinn called.
“Quinn!”
Helen snapped.
“Nooooo,”
said Daria softly. She appeared in the kitchen doorway, her arms raised above
her head, palms facing forward. Her face held the greatest look of surprise
anyone could ever remember seeing on her. “He has a gun,” she said.
“Daria!”
said Helen, standing up. “This has gone far enough!” She walked over to have
further words with her eldest daughter—but stopped in her tracks once her gaze
dropped to the level of Daria’s boots.
“If no
one moves, no one gets hurt!” cried the squirrel with
the gun.
“Yeah!”
squeaked the squirrel behind it, who also had a gun.
“No one gets hurt!” The little squirrels then giggled hysterically. Their fast,
high-pitched voices sounded exactly like those of the Disney Channel’s Chip and
Dale.
“Oh, my
God, they can talk!” cried Quinn, her eyes the size of teacup saucers.
“And they have guns!”
“Well,
duh-UH!” said the first squirrel with a glare, shaking its pistol wildly. “Does
this look like a walnut, Carrot Top?”
“Back to
business!” cried the other squirrel, pointing its little pistol at Helen. “You
are now our prisoners! We’re taking over this property in retail . . . in reta
. . . damn it!” The squirrel stamped its foot rapidly in frustration. “What’s
the word?”
“Retaliation,”
whispered the first squirrel.
“In
retaliation for your chemical weapons attack on our primary food-storage depot
and command bunker!” cried the second squirrel in triumph. “You humans will be
punished for your—”
“Food-storage depot?” Jane said in astonishment. “Hey, are
you the dirty little rodents that were running around in our attic for the last
two months, keeping me awake at night and eating out of the garbage Trent
didn’t take out?”
“Silence,
human!” cried the second squirrel. “First of all, we’re not really rodents,
and—”
“Yes,
you are,” said Daria, her mouth dry.
“No,
we’re not!” screamed the squirrel. “Silence! Second,
we’re actually quite clean, all things considered! Third, I’m not done with my
speech yet. Damn it, now I can’t remember where I was!” The squirrel hammered
its foot against the floor like a high-speed stapler. “Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it damn—”
“‘You
humans will be punished,’” Daria prompted.
“Ah!
Thanks! Yes, you humans will be punished for your insolence and your . . . your . . . crap! What’s the word I’m looking
for?”
“Arrogance,”
came a new, deep, commanding voice.
Everyone
turned to look at the kitchen doorway.
Jake
Morgendorffer came in the kitchen with the largest two-handed science-fiction
movie-prop thermonuclear blast rifle anyone had ever dreamed existed. He held
it aimed down at the two squirrels with a dark expression. “Bucktooth
and Nutkin. I should have known. Was ‘arrogance’ the word you were
looking for?”
“By the
Great World Oak!” shrieked the first squirrel. “It’s the Jakeinator!”
“The
Scourge of Lawndale, the Cage Master!” cried the other squirrel, equally
panicked. “He escaped our death trap!”
“Jake?”
Helen gasped.
“Dad?” Daria gasped.
“Daddy?” Quinn gasped.
“Can I
get my camera?” Jane said getting up from the table. “It’s in my backpack, I’ll only be a second.”
Jake
laughed. “Do you have any idea of how funny you looked when you saw me walk
in?” he asked the squirrels.
The
second squirrel frowned and waved its pistol at Jake. “You will not display
such arrogance—thank you for the word—later tonight when the Grand Prince of
Acorns has you helpless under his left hind foot!”
“The Grand Prince of Acorns, eh?” Jake said with an easy
grin. “The Big Brazil Nut himself?”
“Do not
speak insolently of the Bright-eyed and Bushy-tailed One!” yelled the second
squirrel. “You are not fit to clean his den!”
Jake
smirked. No one had ever seen him smirk before. “The Great Flying One
hibernates with the angels now,” he said flatly.
“Aieeee!” screamed the first squirrel in
horror. “Say it is not so!”
“I know
about your arsenal under our garage, the one you had ready for Operation
Nuthouse,” said Jake in a dangerous tone. Then he grinned. “And your Grand
Prince just had a meeting with Lawndale Pest Control about ten minutes ago at
the Guptys. He was, ah, forced into early retirement.”
A
stunned silence followed.
“Jake,
darling,” said Helen, looking dazed. “All this time when you were raving on and
on about squirrels, I thought—I thought you were—oh, please forgive me!” She
was on the verge of tears.
“It’s
all right, Helen,” Jake said softly. “I had to play crazy. I couldn’t let you
or the kids know what was really going on. It was too dangerous.” His gaze fell
to the wide-eyed squirrels, and his brow furrowed. “Your cause is lost,” he
told them.
“Wrong!
You lose, son of the accursed Mad Dog!” screeched the first squirrel. It
grabbed the laces on Daria’s right boot and aimed its pistol at her ankle.
“Your primary offspring is now my hostage! Lower your tail now, and maybe we’ll
go easy on you!”
“Don’t
look up my skirt,” Daria warned.
“Jiminy
Cricket!” screeched the squirrel. “Do I look like a pervert?”
“I have
a counterproposal,” said Jake. His finger visibly tightened on the trigger of
his thermonuclear blast rifle. The squirrels’ fur turned pale with fright. “You
lay down your weapons, get out of Lawndale forever, and I let you live.” His
grin returned. “But if you ever come back . . .”
The
thermonuclear blast rifle moved an inch closer to the squirrel by Daria’s boot.
“You
will have only a second in which to regret it,” Jake whispered.
Silence
reigned for an infinitely long moment.
“Really,”
said Jane, “if I could just find my backpack and get my camera, I’d—”
“There’s
been a terrible misunderstanding!” squeaked the squirrel by Daria’s boot. It
carefully laid its pistol on the kitchen floor and fell facedown on the floor,
its tail lowered. “I can explain everything!”
“It was all his fault!” shrieked the other squirrel, pointing to the
first one as it laid its own pistol down and fell flat, too. “He made me do
this!”
“Shut
up!” shrieked the first squirrel. “You’re the Master Imperial Vizier! I’m only
the General-Marshall of the Armies!”
“He
pulled fur out of my tail until I agree to go along with—”
“But you
were going to—”
“Get the
hell out of my home and my city,” interrupted Jake, his teeth clenched.
The
squirrels shot out of the kitchen like blurs on amphetamines. Everyone heard
the front door slam shut a second later.
Jake
sighed and lowered his thermonuclear blast rifle, setting it against a cabinet.
He ran a tired hand through his hair and looked up at his family.
“Well,”
he said with a relieved smile. “Dinner ready?”
Original: 01/20/03, modified 09/04/06, 09/22/06, 06/07/09