Three Ways of Looking at a Tiffany Blum-Deckler

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com

Synopsis: Just what is the deal with Tiffany Blum-Deckler, anyway? Three suggestions from science-fiction movies follow.

Author’s Notes: Three short fanfics are included here, none connected by time or plot to any other. These were written because it was so difficult for me to get a fanfic handle on Tiffany Blum-Deckler as a potential major character. I finally gave up and decided to just get weird. The stories given are highly unlikely to exist within the Dariaverse, except in Daria and Jane’s nightmares. However, unless you leave the box, you can only do so much with what you’ve got—and for Tiffany, there’s . . . well, not much. So, the following experiment, for a little fun.

These events are supposed to take place during Daria and Jane’s last summer together in Lawndale, after the Daria TV movie, Is It College Yet? Only one such event is allowed per alternate-history continuum. Otherwise, assume these are bad dreams, and Daria and Jane should not have eaten pepperoni before they went to sleep.

Acknowledgements: Apologies are offered to Wallace Stevens for the title, which is a pun on his famous poem, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.” Thanks to Martin Pollard, who pointed out that what I thought was Jane’s sedan was actually Trent’s.

INT: Interior scene

EXT: Exterior scene

VO: Voice over (off screen)

1. The Accident

On a summer afternoon, Daria and Jane stand together outside a convenience store on the

outskirts of Lawndale, leaning against Trent’s blue sedan, which Jane is borrowing (as seen briefly near the end of the “Daria” fifth-season TV episode, “Boxing Daria”). Each has a large soft drink, casual clothing (t-shirts and shorts), and bored expression. Daria speaks with her usual deadpan voice.

DARIA: [swirling drink] Not a lucky day.

JANE: Not unlucky for you. Your parents are just repainting your room. I’m the one whose house has no power.

DARIA: [sips drink] You really think it was Trent’s fault?

JANE: He knew we had the air conditioning on. He didn’t have to bring Mystik Spiral over for practice and blow the fuse box out.

DARIA: When do you think he’ll get it . . . oh, never mind.

JANE: June of next year. December of this year if he doesn’t fall asleep on the phone getting a repairman.

Daria raises her drink’s straw to her mouth and looks across the road. On the far side of the highway running past the convenience store is a twenty-foot drop-off, a cornfield stretching away from the bottom to the horizon. Further down the road to the left is an apple orchard and produce stand, where several cars are parked. A slim teenager with short black hair, wearing designer jeans and a pale blue designer t-shirt, is walking from the produce stand toward the convenience store on the far side of the road. A small black purse is slung over her left shoulder.

DARIA: Fashion Clubber at ten o’clock.

JANE: [looks in that direction] She should cross the road. She doesn’t have much of a path on that side.

DARIA: Why did the Fashion Clubber cross the road?

JANE: Um . . . to get the credit card on the other side?

DARIA: Mmm, there’s gotta be a better answer than that. Or maybe not.

JANE: Ah . . . [turns, distracted by approaching road noise] . . . could it be . . .

Jane stops, watching an approaching dump truck of large size traveling along the highway from right to left. It moves at a high rate of speed. Tiffany has reached the side of the road opposite the convenience store, clearly intending to cross when possible. She, too, sees the approaching oversized dump truck and merely stands by the roadside, watching it come. She then starts to step back from the road but wobbles, obviously on a ledge above the drop-off. She regains her balance and looks at the truck—almost on her—with a mild frown.

JANE: [lowers drink] Tiffany’d better move.

DARIA: What? [turns, sees the truck]

JANE: [tense] She’s too close to—

The dump truck whizzes by Tiffany and flies on down the road toward the fruit stand. Both Daria and Jane look back to the spot where Tiffany was. Except for a curious puff of dust or smoke where she stood—gone as soon as it is seen—Tiffany is no longer there.

The two girls stare at the vacant spot on the road for half a second. Jane then flings her drink aside on the blacktop parking lot and breaks into a sprint for the road. Daria, delayed a moment longer by shock, drops her drink as well and runs after Jane.

JANE: [yelling as she runs] Tiffany? Tiffany!

Jane, reaching the highway first, sees no traffic coming from either left or right, and continues on across the road. She reaches the other side and looks down over the edge of the drop-off.

JANE: [looking down, cries out] Aaaah! Tiffany!

Jane immediately begins to climb down the rocky embankment. It is steep enough that she has to lean back against the slope to keep from falling. At the time that Jane starts her way down the slope, Daria reaches the edge of the embankment, too, and looks down, her face pale and eyes huge. At the bottom of the slope, lying on a large patch of grass next to the cornfield, is Tiffany. Her body is sprawled out, chest down, where she either fell or was knocked down by the passing truck. She stirs slightly and appears to be lying on one arm. No blood is visible.

JANE: [yelling while descending slope] Tiffany!

Daria runs about thirty feet further down the road and starts down the slope there, where the slope is easier for her to negotiate. Trying to move quickly, she reaches the bottom and starts to run back to the spot where Jane is already kneeling by Tiffany’s side. Something in the grass ahead of her causes Daria to pull up short. She stops only five feet from the object.

The object is one of Tiffany’s arms, severed just above the elbow. All the color drains from Daria’s face. She rocks on her heels, about to either faint or throw up.

DARIA: [unsteady, rough voice] Jane? [looks up, yells] Jane!

Jane, on her knees, is in the process of pulling off her belt as fast as she can.

JANE: [yells] She’s lost an arm!

DARIA: [shaky voice] I know! It’s right here!

JANE: [yells] Wrap it up in something, fast!

Jane turns back to Tiffany, who is groggy and trying to push herself up from the ground

with her remaining (right) arm.

JANE: [to Tiffany, in as calm a voice as she can muster] Lie still. Don’t get up. You’re—you’re going to be all . . . all . . . what is . . . ? [gasps, stops in the act of putting a tourniquet on stump of Tiffany’s left arm]

Daria looks down at the arm, then looks around for something to wrap it in. Seeing nothing, she pulls off her own green t-shirt, revealing her bra underneath. She swallows, takes a deep breath, and kneels on the ground next to the arm. With trembling hands, she reaches for the arm and tries to pick it up, keeping the severed end away from her. She lifts the arm from the ground—and broken wires spill out of the severed end. Daria sees this and drops the arm in fright. She moves around so she can see the severed end more clearly, staring in astonishment.

Inside the severed end of Tiffany’s arm, nestled within a layer of gray padding under the skin, is a mass of electronic parts, tiny circuitry boards, and a large empty space in the center where a bone or bar once was. Thin wire cables, broken off at their ends, run out, as do insulated copper electrical wires in many colors. After a pause, Daria puts her t-shirt back on and carefully reaches for the arm again, which she picks up with infinite care. She then gets to her feet, staring at it in wonder.

DARIA: It’s a prosthesis. A prosthetic arm.

Daria looks over at Jane, who has a frightened look on her face. Jane is talking to Tiffany.

JANE: [weak voice] Lie still, don’t get up. Don’t get up. We’re going to get help.

TIFFANY: [groggy] Oooh, nooo.

JANE: Tiffany, it’s me, Jane.

TIFFANY: Oooh, Jaaane. [pause] It hit me.

JANE: [weak voice] I know. You—you fell off the road.

TIFFANY: Why is . . . [tries to move left arm, groans] Oooh, nooo.

Daria walks up at this point, carrying the artificial arm.

DARIA: [stunned, to Jane] It’s a prosthetic arm. It’s not real. [looks at Tiffany] When did you ever get—

JANE: [looks up, her face pale and sweaty, voice quivering] Daria—

Tiffany sudden rolls and sits up on the grass. She looks down at her left arm, the remains of which hang from her t-shirt sleeve. The most prominent item is a steel-colored, bonelike rod projecting from the stump of her arm. The steel bone moves a bit, apparently under Tiffany’s control. A few drops of yellowish fluid drip from the end of the steel bone, which has a ball shape as if it went into a socket joint at normal elbow level. No blood is visible at all.

TIFFANY: [anguished] Oooh, nooo.

Tiffany looks up at Daria and Jane. Though dirty, she does not seem to be in any pain, nor does she have any other injuries. Jane pulls back from Tiffany, in deep shock.

TIFFANY: [depressed] My arm was sooo expensive.

DARIA: But you can have this fixed! I don’t know when you got it, but your insurance will probably—

JANE: [tense, motioning Daria to silence] Daria, no—

DARIA: —cover it. [to Jane] What?

Tiffany gets up from the ground using her right hand. Jane gets up as well, backing away from Tiffany.

JANE: [eyes locked on Tiffany, fearful] It’s not a prosthesis.

DARIA: What? Sure it . . . [stops, staring at the upper part of Tiffany’s left arm]

Tiffany peels back her t-shirt, inspecting the end of her upper arm. It becomes abundantly clear at that instant that Tiffany is not wearing a prosthetic arm. Her fingers probe the edges of her injury, moving skin that now looks like torn plastic on the edges, skin that covers the rest of her body.

JANE: [faint voice] It’s her.

TIFFANY: [mournful sigh] I got broooken agaaain. My daaad will be sooo mad at meee.

2. The Spoon

In the kitchen of the Morgendorffers’ home, Daria and Jane are raiding the refrigerator for lunch. They’ve already set up a sack of chips, cheese dip, plates, and other items on the table nearby.

JANE: What’s this in the back, under the blob in aluminum foil?

DARIA: Jackpot. Dad forgot to finish off the chicken wings.

JANE: I’m on it. [pulls paper carton out of frig, walks over to table with it] I feel guilty about leaving Trent at home with the contents of our refrigerator. On the other hand, he doesn’t use much energy when he’s asleep all day.

DARIA: When did he last go out for groceries?

JANE: [sampling a wing] Uh, lessee, it was . . . spring break. Yeah. He ordered out for pizza.

Daria exits the refrigerator, letting the door shut, with two plastic bowls. She puts them on table and sits down, as does Jane. In the background, the sounds of footsteps descending a stairway can be heard.

DARIA: Intruder alert.

Tiffany comes into the kitchen, looking like her usual self. She’s left her purse upstairs. Daria and Jane prepare their lunches while the following conversation goes on.

TIFFANY: Hiii. Sandi and Quinn sent me to ask if you have any looow-fat carrots or celery.

DARIA: Hmmm, we have some deep-fried, extra-crispy carrots, but they’re not low fat.

TIFFANY: Oooh. Buuummer. [turns to go]

DARIA: [sighs] Wait, it’s coming back to me now. Yes, we do have some low-fat carrots. They’re in the refrigerator. Help yourself.

TIFFANY: Oooh, goood. [pause, thinking] Oooh, and we need a spooon.

DARIA: A spoon? For the carrots?

TIFFANY: Nooo, for the yooogurt. Stacy brought yooogurt.

JANE: [hands Tiffany her own unused spoon] There is no spoon.

Tiffany takes the spoon, but stares at Jane, distracted.

TIFFANY: Whaaat?

JANE: There is no spoon.

A pause. Tiffany holds the spoon, looking from Jane to Daria.

JANE: [lowers head, groans] This is too cruel. [to Tiffany] That was in a movie. Did you see “The Matrix”?

TIFFANY: [pause] Was that a mooovie?

JANE: Yeah. People found out that everything they thought was real, everything in the world, was actually going on inside of a computer.

TIFFANY: [staring, eyes bigger] They were inside a compuuuter?

JANE: Something like that.

DARIA: [glances at Jane, shrugs] I’m up for a challenge. [to Tiffany] “The Matrix” said that we all hooked up to a sort of giant, virtual-reality computer game, and everything we think is happening, isn’t really happening. It’s all part of the computer’s world. At one point in the movie, a kid proves this by holding up a spoon and making it bend, just by thinking about it.

TIFFANY: [pause] He bent a spooon? Were his parents, like, mad at him?

DARIA: No. They didn’t like that particular spoon.

JANE: The idea was that you could do anything once you realized that whatever you heard, saw, or touched wasn’t real. Nothing was real. The hero in the movie tried to make a spoon bend, but he couldn’t do it until the kid said, “There is no spoon.” Once the hero remembered that nothing is real, he could bend the spoon.

Tiffany frowns, trying valiantly to take all of this information in.

DARIA: [points to Tiffany’s spoon] You try it. Try to bend the spoon.

TIFFANY: [frowns] I caaan’t. I’m not very strooong.

DARIA: No, just use your mind. Hold up the spoon and make it bend, just by thinking about it.

A doubtful look on her face, Tiffany raises the spoon and stares hard at it. Nothing happens. Daria and Jane pick up chicken wings and watch while they eat, smiling a bit.

TIFFANY: It won’t wooork.

DARIA: Okay, now think to yourself, “There is no spoon.”

TIFFANY: Whaaat?

DARIA: “There is no spoon.” Think that, then try it.

Tiffany nods, closes her eyes, thinks, then looks at the spoon again. A second later, the spoon bends. It curls completely around in a loop as she holds it, the handle stretching like liquid metal. Daria and Jane freeze, their mouths full of chicken wings. Both swallow after several seconds, their eyes bugging out.

TIFFANY: [awestruck] Coool.

The spoon bends again, straightening out, then turns into a red rose. Tiffany’s face lights up with wonder and joy. The red rose changes to brilliant blue, then glows softly from within. Daria and Jane turn white and drop the chicken wings they were holding.

JANE: [unnaturally high voice] Oh, shiiiiiiiit.

The glowing blue rose changes back into a spoon. Tiffany carefully puts it back on the table. She looks around, then reaches for a knife. As soon as she picks it up, the knife mutates, changing into a golden mirror, then a jewel-encrusted silver comb, then a platinum-colored credit card.

TIFFANY: Oooh, this is sooo coool. It even works on other kinds of tablewaaare. [looks up at Daria and Jane, stares at them]

In less than a second, Daria and Jane are out of their chairs and away from the table. They back away from Tiffany in real terror.

DARIA: [high voice, no deadpan] Be careful!

JANE: [panicking] Don’t hurt us! We’re your friends! We like you! At least we do now!

Tiffany blinks, then stares hard at Daria and Jane, who fling up hands to shield their faces.

JANE: No!

DARIA: Don’t!

Daria and Jane slowly lower their hands, staring at their fingers as if they’d changed before their eyes—which is exactly what has happened. Both Daria and Jane have changed into perfect copies of Tiffany.

DARIA: [stares at thin hands and arms] Oh, my God!!! [looks at Jane, screams] Aaaaaaaahhh!!!

JANE: [looks at Daria, screams] Aaaaaaaahhh!!! Make it stop!!!

Tiffany frowns at all the screaming.

Suddenly, nothing exists except for Tiffany. She stands alone in infinite white space, still holding the platinum-colored credit card. She turns, looking everywhere. A dejected look crosses her face.

TIFFANY: [mournful] Oh, did I turn off the compuuuter? [sigh] My daaad will be sooo mad at meee.

3. The Spider

Daria and Jane stand in a crowd of tourists outside a new research laboratory in

Lawndale. Daria holds a flash camera.

JANE: [arms crossed] I don’t know why I let myself be talked into this. I hate spiders.

DARIA: Just keep telling yourself, “They’re only spiders. They’re not a neurotic Freudian projection of my fear of womanhood.” That should do it.

JANE: How do you come up with this stuff?

DARIA: The Internet.

JANE: Now I wish I hadn’t beaten up my computer with the baseball bat last month.

DARIA: I thought it caught fire.

JANE: It’s a long story.

A man with a bullhorn steps out of the laboratory doors.

ANNOUNCER: Okay, the next thirty people for the tour, please line up here.

Daria, Jane, and numerous others get in line. Turning around in line, Daria sees Tiffany five places behind her. Tiffany smiles vacantly, and Daria nods to her, then turns to Jane.

DARIA: If you’re wondering what you’re doing here, you can also wonder at why Tiffany is here, too.

JANE: You’re kidding. [looks back, waves, turns to Daria] You’re not kidding.

DARIA: That’s what I hate about this planet. It’s too damn small.

JANE: You really think she’s here for the grand opening of the Arachnid Genetic Engineering wing?

DARIA: Maybe we’ve misjudged her love of science.

JANE: Maybe she confused the opening of the new laboratory with the opening of the Cashman’s WaifStyle outlet across the street. That’s going on right now, too. Bet you twenty.

DARIA: [glares at Jane] I’m not really as stupid as I look. [sigh] Well, she might find a nice spider T-shirt in the gift shop.

The line suddenly moves, and everyone enters the laboratory. The crowd follows a uniformed security guard, who takes them to a tall lady in a white smock, holding a microphone.

SCIENTIST: Greetings, citizens of Lawndale! Welcome to the opening of the only genetics laboratory in North America devoted to studying unusual mutations found in our natural friends and helpers, the spiders! As you can see here, some of the most interesting mutations we’ve discovered are on display here in this glass case. You can take pictures of all thirteen spiders, if you like! They’re worth a million dollars each. Aren’t they cute?

DARIA: [focuses camera on glass case, using viewfinder] Huh. That’s interesting.

JANE: You see a spider you like? Want to invite him over?

DARIA: No. Of the thirteen little cases that are supposed to have spiders in them, only twelve actually have spiders in them.

JANE: Maybe he’s the shy one.

DARIA: Or the one that can turn invisible.

JANE: Isn’t something about this situation sort of familiar, in a way? Like, you’ve seen it somewhere before?

DARIA: That’s why I’m holding a camera.

TIFFANY: [walks up to Daria and Jane] Hiii, Daaaria and Jaaane.

DARIA: Tiffany. Where are Quinn and the rest of the Fashion Gestapo?

TIFFANY: I was going to ask yooou that. We were supposed to meeet out front for the WaifStyle sale, but I don’t see them aaanywhere. And why are all these buuugs here? Groooss.

DARIA: [peering through viewfinder, taking pictures] Jane, I’m really glad I didn’t bet on that one with you.

JANE: I’m really sorry you didn’t.

FIRST TERRORIST: All right, ladies and gentlemen, look over here! Right here!

Everyone looks to the left. A man wearing a long raincoat has pulled a pump-action shotgun from under his coat and holds it to the head of a security guard. Several people cry out in fear.

FIRST TERRORIST: Everyone do exactly as I say, and no one gets hurt, not even Ole’ Chubby here. [grins at fearful overweight guard]

A second terrorist walks out of the crowd, holding two machine pistols he’s pulled from his raincoat. He turns as he walks toward the first terrorist, panning the crowd with the guns. With many cries and screams, the tourists fall back from him. Children cry.

SECOND TERRORIST: Sit down on the floor! Sit down, everyone! We’ve got a few pieces of equipment to pick up, and then we’re out of here! Now, sit down, or you can lie down with some holes in you instead!

Of the fifty or so people in the immediate area, every one of them sits down. Daria, Jane, and Tiffany all sit down, their faces awash in fear and disbelief—except Tiffany, who merely frowns. The first terrorist grabs some papers from the woman scientist, stuffs them in his pockets, and picks up a heavy suitcase that another security guard carried. His right hand holds his shotgun out, finger on the trigger.

DARIA: [low voice] I was wondering why anyone would wear a raincoat when no rain was forecast for the—

SECOND TERRORIST: [looks toward Daria, one gun aiming in her direction] And shut the hell up!

Cowed, Daria immediately hunches down. As she does so, she accidentally bumps her camera’s shutter, and the flash goes off.

SECOND TERRORIST: Hey! You! [aims both guns at Daria] What the hell are you doing?

DARIA: [frightened, quickly puts camera down, hands to sides] Nothing! It was an accide—

SECOND TERRORIST: [walks over toward Daria, guns aimed at her] You wanna be a hero? A dead hero?

Jane immediately scoots over between Daria and the terrorist’s guns. She rises up on her knees, facing the terrorist, blocking his line of sight to Daria. Concerned, Tiffany looks at Daria and Jane from where she sits, immediately next to them.

JANE: [badly frightened, but raises her hands, palms out, at the terrorist] Leave her alone! It was an accident!

SECOND TERRORIST: Two dead heroes. [raises guns, aims at Jane’s face] Why not.

TIFFANY: [speaking a little faster than usual, loudly and clearly] I have to go to the bathroom, pleeease.

The second terrorist looks at Tiffany, his fingers already tightening on the triggers of both his pistols. Jane’s hands shake as she tries to block the gun muzzles with the palms of her hands, still protecting Daria.

SECOND TERRORIST: [to Tiffany] What?

TIFFANY: The bathroom, you knooow? Can I pleeease go to the bathroom? Nooow?

The second terrorist stares at Tiffany as if she had three heads. Not another sound can be heard. White-faced, Jane looks from the terrorist to Tiffany and back.

SECOND TERRORIST: Do you have any damn idea what we’re doing here? And you still want to go to the goddamn bathroom?

TIFFANY: [nods] Yes. [pause] Pleeease?

The second terrorist throws a glance back at the first terrorist, who looks dumbfounded. Jane, still holding her hands up in front of the two guns, trembles as if she has the worst case of the flu in history. Her face is screwed up, anticipating the gunshots to come.

FIRST TERRORIST: Just shoot the little slut and let’s go. We got what we came for.

SECOND TERRORIST: [looking back at Tiffany] No, you may not go to the bathroom. [aims one gun from Jane to Tiffany instead] But now you don’t have to.

Daria lunges forward and hits Jane from behind, knocking her to the floor and covering her with Daria’s own body. The second terrorist pulls the triggers on both guns, aiming for Jane (where she was a split second earlier) and Tiffany. The ear-shattering sound of automatic gunfire explodes in the corridor as both pistol barrels flash white fire. The bullets once heading for Jane and Daria blast showers of plaster out of the wall behind.

Immediately in front of Tiffany, however, is a strange whirling cloud of pale color. As soon as the second terrorist stops firing, the cloud vanishes. In its place are both of Tiffany’s naked arms, her fists clenched. A second later, she opens her fists and turns her palms over, pouring a dozen bullets out of her hands. Tiffany pulls a handkerchief from a pocket in her dress and wipes her hands off, standing up.

TIFFANY: [to the second terrorist, frowning] That was meeean.

SECOND TERRORIST: [stunned] What the hell . . . [raises both guns at her a second time]

Tiffany turns into a pale blue blur that rushes at the second terrorist. In less than a second, the second terrorist appears to be struck hundreds of times everywhere across his face, arms, chest, abdomen, groin, and legs. Both his guns burst into fragments that scatter in every direction. The terrorist then lifts off the floor, thrown backward twenty-five feet at high speed into a wall. He strikes the wall so hard as to leave an impression of his entire outline in the plaster before he falls forward, face down on the marble floor, and doesn’t move. Piled up on the floor, Daria and Jane stare at this, mouths and eyes wide open. Tiffany reappears out of the blue blur in the air, standing with an angry look on her face. Her stick-thin arms are at her sides, both fists clenched. She isn’t even sweating, much less breathing heavily.

The first terrorist drops his stolen suitcase and raises his shotgun at Tiffany. She turns in his direction. Her eyes flash light. Two pencil-thin, blue-white beams like lasers shoot from her eyes and strike the shotgun, heating it in a millisecond to over a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. The shotgun turns yellow-white, parts of it bursting into flame. The terrorist screams and drops the molten weapon, his hands now smoldering masses of black tissue. Tiffany turns into a pale blue blur again, reaching the first terrorist in an eye blink. He doubles over, the breath knocked completely out of him, then is flung backward into the wall like the other terrorist. He bounces off the wall but is knocked back, rebounding dozens more times like a racquetball video on fast-forward before the blue blur in the air allows him to bounce off and collapse, boneless. The smashed-in wall behind him is splattered in numerous places with red.

Tiffany reappears out of the blue blur. She again pulls the handkerchief from her pocket and wipes off her hands, frowning down at the motionless terrorist. For a few seconds, there is absolute silence.

DARIA: [to Jane, whispers] Marry me.

JANE: [whispers] If you’ll marry me. Then let’s both marry her.

DARIA: [whispers] Done. [gets off Jane’s back]

Spontaneous cheers and shouts rise up from everyone in view as people get up, overjoyed at deliverance. Tiffany turns and smiles vacantly at the crowd, putting her handkerchief away. Looking self-conscious, she walks over to where Daria and Jane are getting up from the floor, giving them a gentle hand.

DARIA: [unsteady voice] He really should have let you go to the bathroom.

TIFFANY: [nods] Yeah.

JANE: You must have had to go really bad.

TIFFANY: Nooo. I didn’t have to do thaaat. I wanted to change into my costume first.

DARIA: [pause] Costume. [smacks her forehead] Oh. Duh!

TIFFANY: You knooow. [rolls eyes] I have this really coool costume—Sandi, Quinn, and Stacy made it up for me—but these guys said I couldn’t go chaaange, so my secret identity is all ruuuined, and—

DARIA: Uh, wait. Quinn and the others knew you could do this?

TIFFANY: [sighs] Well, suuure. That’s why they hang around me so much.

DARIA: [under her breath] Damn her. [normal voice] Tiffany, are you married?

TIFFANY: [shakes head] Nooo.

JANE: Will you marry Daria and me after we get married? And can I have the rights to do your official comic?

DARIA: [quickly] And me your life story, all twenty volumes?

TIFFANY: [looks at Daria and Jane, then nods agreeably] Oooh-kaaay. [frowns] But I don’t know if we can live in my rooom. I have to ask my mooom.

DARIA: We’ll work something . . . [looks up, startled]

A red spider descends from the ceiling on a web strand, right over Tiffany’s left shoulder. Abruptly, the spider drops onto her bare skin. Before it can bite her, Tiffany frowns and slaps the spider, smashing it flat. She pulls out her handkerchief a third time to wipe her hands and shoulder off.

DARIA: [points to unsightly spot on Tiffany’s shoulder] Um, I bet that was the lost mutant spider, the one worth a million dollars.

TIFFANY: Oooh, nooo. It was? [mournful sigh] Oh, my daaad will be sooo mad at meee.

Author’s Notes II: “The Accident” is derived from elements in the movie A.I. “The Spoon” was, of course, from The Matrix, and “The Spider” was from the movie Spider-Man (the first one).

Original: 06/03/02, modified 01/31/03, 09/04/06, 10/01/06

FINIS