05x05 - The Story of D

[bunniefuu]

Watching the Fashionvision Humanitarian
Awards instead of going out tonight was

such a good idea, Sandi.

They're donating a tenth of a cent to
charity for every household tuned in.

We're really doing something worthwhile.

Sandi, you've made us into contributors.

Thank you all, I try.

Thank you, from me and Spongecake.

And most of all, from the little
children who now get the pedicures they so

sorely need.

The Fashionvision Humanitarian
Awards will be back right after...

But Rita, if Erin never loved him, why'd
she marry him in the first place? Once

he gave her herpes she didn't think
anyone else would want her? Oh, lord Rita,

it's a new millennium. When will people
get rid of these outmoded ideas about

sex? Where's your sister?

In her room.

Is Tom in there with her?

Mo-om! I'm not J. Edgar Winter.

Uh! Talk to your aunt!

Hello? It's Quinn, Aunt Rita. Well, of
course she should divorce him, he's short!

Daria! Why don't you two
come downstairs and...

Um, Tom's not here?

Not unless you've got him secreted
somewhere on your person. You do, don't you.

Oh... hmm... all right, then.

Hello.

Okay... the movie just started and you're
in the comfort of your own home. So,

I'd say you're not going to
make it. What would you say?

Crap.

Gee, who'd have thunk it? It turns out
alien superintelligence is no match for

our earthly can-do spunk.

And beautiful twenty-year old
astrophysicists are really looking for a nice,

middle-aged street cop
to fall in love with.

Yeah, didn't see that one coming.

I wish I hadn't seen it at all.

Well, if you'd been on time, we'd be
deconstructing that comedy from Croatia

instead of It Came From Planet
Stupid. What were you doing that was so

important, anyway?

Um, working on something.

Oh, I'm satisfied. Out
with it, Morgendorffer.

Okay, I was writing a short story.

And the big secret is?

I'm uh, thinking of submitting
it somewhere, like a publication.

Hey! That's a step, when can I read it?

How does next leap year sound?

You're willing to have it published and
read by strangers, but you don't want

your best friend to see it?

Thank you for understanding.

Congratulations for watching the
Fashionvision Humanitarian Awards. And

remember, there's no better feeling than
looking good, doing good. Good night.

Those models are so unselfish.

I feel humbled.

I wish I could win a
Fashionvision Humanitarian Award.

Well, you know, as a prominent
extracurricular organization at Lawndale High,

there's no reason we couldn't
lend our name to a worthy cause.

Like the girls soccer team
and their adopt-a-highway sign?

Eww. Picking up trash
on the side of the road?

Um, Quinn. I haven't been convicted of
anything, have you? Besides, why settle

for a sign, when you can have a plaque.

Wow! A plaque?

Exactly. Mounted on something appropriate
for our beautification image. Like, a

park bench.

But, then wouldn't people always
be putting their butts on us?

Eww.

I know. How about a new mirror to replace
that awful one in the girls bathroom

that adds at least two pounds?

I hate that mirror.

It haunts me.

That's a good idea, Quinn. Donating
a mirror will reflect well on us.

Reflect well on us?

Ohh!

Now, that stain to the left of the
Barbie's corvette stain looks just like

Eleanor Roosevelt.

Just say it, you read
my story and hated it.

What? Where'd you get that madcap idea?

Your increasingly desperate
attempts to avoid the topic.

I didn't hate it. It just seemed,
well... the plot felt a little muddled.

You think it sucked. Just admit it.

It had too many styles
or something, that's all.

It's okay if you don't like it, you know.
In fact, I don't even like it. It stinks.

Look, why don't you show it to someone
else? Someone who appreciates literature.

Someone named Tom.

I couldn't show it to
him. It's too intimate.

Daria, it's about a flesh-eating
virus. How's that intimate?

You'd think it was pretty intimate
if it were eating your flesh.

This king of the jungle was one tubby
tabby, until the animal plastic surgeon

came to call. Lipo for Leo,
next on Sick, Sad World.

Dammit! Why do they have to make
the eye of the needle so darn small?

I guess to piss off the camel.

Thanks, Kiddo!

Just happy to find something
I can do. Unlike writing.

Good for you! Now what the hell did I
do with that button? Hey! Who says you

can't write?

It's not important. Forget I mentioned
it. I don't want to talk about it. It's

true, isn't it?

I bet it was some busy-body teacher
like Corporal Ellenbogen. Guy can did a

foxhole; that makes him an expert on
show tunes? I don't think so, dammit!

Um, Dad. Are you getting your m*llitary
school boyhood mixed up with a past life

in vaudeville?

Ellenbogen told me the song I wrote
for the school musical stank, dammit!

And you know what? It was a darn good
song. I should have sung it for someone

who didn't think that musical comedy
began and ended with Gilbert and Sullivan.

Oh, please!

All right. Now that we've agreed to
donate a new girls room mirror, the next

order of business is to
figure out how to pay for it.

Oh, yeah.

We could hold a yard sale!

Stacy, are you suggesting we sit
behind a card table and haggle?

Oh, God. What's wrong with me?

Why don't we do what we do best?

Quinn, no-one is going to
pay us to eat carrot sticks.

I mean, tell people what's
wrong with their outfits.

But, we do that all day for free.
That's why everyone likes us.

Well, we can put it down on paper. Sell
our own newsletter offering advice to

fashion victims. And, we can predict
fashion trends. People will save money with

our newsletter by not buying things
in the wrong fabric or belt length.

A commendable idea. All in favor?

Then I guess we should
decide which topics to cover.

Boy, this volunteering is
going to be a lot of work.

I know. Someone should
really pay us for it.

If it wasn't for Ellenbogen, I might be
a Broadway lyricist. I could write songs

for cats. I could write songs for dogs!

My name in lights would
have been fantastic.

Jake.

Ellenbogen!

Jake!

Huh?

Where are the girls?

Uh... Quinn's um, somewhere, and, and
Daria's up in her room with, um, Tom.

Jake, how long have they been up there?

Did I ever tell you about the song I
wrote in m*llitary school? "Cadet Guys Ho!"

If I say I don't want them in there alone,
I might give them ideas. I know, snacks.

I'd like to thank my family, my friends,
and not that damn Corporal Ellenbogen!

Or Gilbert! Or Sullivan!

I'm so glad you asked me to read this.

You are?

Yeah. It's great.

It's not muddled?

No, it's varied. It changes voices,
it challenges the reader. Daria, I'm

serious, this is really good.

Oh, Tom. I didn't know you were here.
Are you two hungry? I could get you some

chackers and creese? Um, crackers and
cheese and crackers. I'll be right back.

You know, I read this story my English
teacher sent to Musings Magazine, and

this is much better. Why
don't you submit it to them?

The rejection, indignation,
and lasting humiliation.

How about the success, stardom,
and eventual alcoholism?

I actually did think of submitting it
somewhere. But it feels too... too much

like trying.

I'll never tell you
displayed motivation.

I'm just not sure it's good enough.

Why don't you let the magazine
decide? No-one has to know.

Hello, Daria.

Oh, hi Mr. O'Neill.

Musings Magazine? Daria, are you
submitting a story? That's wonderful!

Um, I'd appreciate it if you
didn't tell anyone about this.

Of course, it will be our little
secret. A new and deeper level to our

student-teacher relationship. Something
unique and meaningful between a gifted

writer and, well, her mentor?

Something like that.

I'm honored! Is there anything
else you'd like to tell me?

Uh, your shoelace is untied.

Purple based lipsticks will be in, so
peach based blushes will be out, because

otherwise, your cheekbones won't match
your lipliner, and who needs that? Smiley

face, surprise face, wink.

Hold the tweezer in your right hand, or
in your left hand if you're left handed.

Squeeze the eyebrow hair and
pull. There is pain involved.

Long skirts will be back, although not
too long. Maybe on the shorter side of

long, but don't be mad if it turns out
that the longer-longer ones are more in

than the shorter-longer ones.

Like a fine wine, if wines were colors,
aubergine is dark, tasteful, and goes

well with fish. I predict it will be
the breakout color for next season.

Fellow pundits, it's
time to go to press.

Friends and followers. As President of
the Fashion Club, I am proud to announce

the first issue of our cutting-edge
publication. Predicting upcoming trends in

personal deportment, while providing
underwriting to a deserving cause.

Um, what are you selling?

Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Our
newsletter is dedicated to the art of

looking good, or at least
better than those around you.

A fashion magazine? Uh...

Uh, no.

Next time.

Will you buy one from me?

Sure! I'll take one.

I'll take two!

Make it three... uh, no, five!

"An Ode to Aubergine"?

"A Good Pluck"?

"Please Remember to Blush"?

There must be a lot going on in the
boys room that we don't know about.

And really, isn't that as it should be?

Hey, maybe Quinn should
publish your story.

Nah, it's full of sentences that don't
begin with 'I.' Besides, I, um, already

submitted it to a magazine. Tom's idea.

Tom liked your story? That's great.
See, what do I know about literature?

What does he?

Was I being enthusiastic
again? I'm sorry.

You didn't mean anything by it.

Although the great Greek dramatist
Aeschylus wrote a staggering eighty plays,

only seven of them are available
to us. Does anyone know why?

The rest are still in Greece?

Huh. Anyone else? Daria?

The remaining plays were destroyed.

That's right. All of them, gone.
Can you imagine Aeschylus's feelings?

Heh, I bet he's not
even thinking about it.

Daria, how would you feel if the story
you wrote were lost to mankind forever.

If every last copy of Musings
Magazine were somehow, set aflame.

Wow, you've been published in Musings?

I know what you mean. I wrote to the
Embarrassing Moments column in Teen Babe

magazine about Kevin's gaseous problem
when we're making out, and I never heard

back from them.

Babe!

Kevin, it's okay. The
important thing is that I tried.

Aww!

Daria, what were you saying?

Never mind, I think you've said it all.

Excuse me? Oh, oh dear. Um, sorry.

He meant well, for a teacher
who does nothing well.

I'm reminded of my father.

What? Why?

Because I can't get the phrase, "damn
idiot teachers with their damn idiot

brains," out of my head.

Hey, Daria, congratulations. A
published story, that's amazing.

Um, it's not exactly published. I
sent it in, but I haven't heard back.

Then why are you telling
everyone that it's been published?

Oh, you know Daria and her
compulsive need to impress.

Oh! But then, instead of making up
stuff about writing, shouldn't you pick

something good?

How's this. During the day, I'm a
mild-mannered student. But at night, I fight

crime in a stretchy-stretchy costume.

Cool! I didn't know that.

She doesn't really.

But she just said.

Kevie, you're so gullible.

She wears it on weekends, come on.

You know, my mother gets Musings and
their fiction is awful. I bet you'll have

no trouble getting in.

Gee, thanks.

That's not what I meant.

I know, thanks.

Good luck.

Daria, in the name of Jane Austin, Emily
Dickinson, Anne Bronte, Emily Bronte,

and Charlotte Bronte, I
want to say, "You go, girl!"

That's just how they would have put it.

Who told you?

Er, uh, um, nobody. It certainly didn't
come up during anything other than

normal in-school chitchat among colleagues.
Fully dressed. With no oils involved.

Ever have one of those moments that no
shower, no matter the duration nor the

temperature, can ever erase?

I'm leaning toward trauma-induced
amnesia myself. Punch my head, would ya?

Daria! Guess what! I found my old song
lyrics. Here, I'll sing them for you.

Get ready to hear some dope beats!

Ohh!

Hey! We're the guys they call cadets,
where here to serve... our... nation.

Daria?

I can't believe all our newsletter
predictions were wrong! Hems hike up, heels

fall down, tweezing isn't pleasing, and
dark colors like aubergine, are over.

Who would have thought that brightly
comic tones like peach and lemon would

suddenly come into
vogue. I need to be alone.

This is so sad.

Why does everything always happen to us?

Let me guess. The Wide World of Wool was
preempted for an emergency State of the

Union Address.

Even worse. Waif's What's Hot and What's
Rot issue just came, and what we though

was out and in is not now our careers
as fashion prognosticators are over!

I'll go lower the flag to half-mast.

Thank you for giving us the opportunity
to read your work. I've been rejected.

Daria! Come in.

Is everything okay?

No, everything's not okay.
Musings rejected my story.

Really? I can't believe it.

Don't worry, you'll get over it. I knew
it wasn't good enough to be published.

Okay, so maybe it was the wrong place.
Or just a bad editor. There are lots of

magazines out there.
Send it somewhere else.

It's not enough to get rejected once, you
want me to get rejected dozens of times?

Come on. It happens to everyone.
One try and you give up?

Uncle.

Daria, you're not listening
to what I'm saying.

Hey, I listened when you told me to send
it in, and look what happened. Now you

want me to keep submitting it so I can
live in a state of perpetual misery. God,

you're insensitive.

No, I'm supportive. But you're too
thick-headed to notice. I liked that story, I

thought it was smart, funny and insightful.
None of which I could say about you

right now.

Gee, thanks. See ya.

Why don't you just grow up? Or not.

Attention! Due to a senseless act of
sabotage currently under investigation by

investigators. The articles in our
newsletter were altered prior to publication

and without our knowledge.

We are therefore rectifying the
situation by issuing refunds.

So, everyone, just ignore
everything you read.

You... didn't read it at all, did you?

Being an author sucks.

Do you want us to read it now?

No!

These dumpsters are gross.

What do you think this stuff
is that looks like vomit?

Stacy!

Sorry.

I guess we aren't going to
make our fundraising goal.

It's just so unfair that you have
to do something to get a plaque.

Hmm.

Daria!

There you are. I've been waiting
all day to sing you this song.

Um, okay.

Hey! We're the guys they call cadets,
we're here to serve our nation, fighting

stinking foreigners right after graduation.
We have learned to make our beds, shine

our boots all gleamy, when we put on our
dress blues, we really look quite dreamy.

Corporal Ellenbogen was right.

Um, the tune is catchy.

It sucks! Damn drum machine!

Agh! I'm a failure.

Dad, you made up one song when you were
a teenager and it's not the best thing

ever written, and that
makes you a failure?

Well, that's one of the things.

So your reach exceeded your grasp. I'd rather
have that happen to me than the opposite.

What do you mean?

You know what good is, that's how you
know you didn't achieve it. That's a lot

better than if you were putting
out crap and thinking it was great.

It is?

You came up short because
you were aiming high.

Your right, Daria! I did! I went out
on a limb and took a chance. That took

guts, didn't it?

Um, yes. Yes it did.

Damn right Kiddo!

Gutsy Jakey went to town, riding in a
Lexus, missed his star but did aim far... um.

Who cares what jerk rejects us?

Who cares what jerk rejects us. Yeah!

And so, as part of our continuing effort
to improve the quality of life for the

students of Lawndale High, the Fashion
Club is pleased to present this plaque.

Commemorating, this plaque. Because, as
my grandmother says, whenever she tries

to give me some horrible peasant blouse
from like, the Haight-Ashtray period of

American history.

It's the thought that counts.

Oh, Sandi. That was great.

Really moving.

Um, does the red light thingy
have to be on to record?

Hello.

Um, hi.

I'm cooking up a delicious juicy crow
tonight and thought you might like to come

over for a drumstick.

Oh, I'm not hungry...
but I'll watch you eat.

Mmmm. That crow smells good.

Well, we both know why I asked you here.

Not me, no idea.

None whatsoever.

Fine, I deserve that. Look, I'm...
sorry. You were being supportive.

I was the one acting like... you know.

You can do it, rhymes with clerk.

Shut up. So, forgiveness and whatnot?

Eh, you've suffered enough.

For today.

Tom, Daria. Can I get you anything?

I'll have a big glass
of human growth hormone.

Coming right up! I mean,
I'll be back with some snacks.

Better talk fast, she's
been doing speed drills.

So, you're over the rejection letter?

What letter? Oh, wait. You mean the
one that said, "Dear Ms. Morgendorffer.

Thank you for giving us the opportunity
to read your work. It's not right for us

at this time, but please keep us in
mind for future submissions." Gee, I'd

almost forgotten.

Daria, we're out of cheese.
Would you like pretzels?

That's what it said? To submit again?

Yeah. Don't they always say that?

No, Daria. That's great. My teacher got
a one-line note. Musings regrets that

your material is unsuitable.

Really?

How about some pineapple chunks? In their
own juice or heavy syrup? You decide.

Editors never encourage people unless
they think they really have something, and

that's not often.

Let's see if I've got this straight.
The editors didn't like my story, they

don't want to publish it, but they
do look forward to rejecting me in the

future. And that's good.

Congratulations.

It's great to be a writer.

And such a cheerful writer.

Rice cakes? Oh, God! No!

Do you think Helen will ever
recover from the tell-tale smooch?

All we can do for her now is be
there when she's ready to talk.

How's that coming, by the way?

Good. Really good.

But I guess I'll get back to my writing.