Suddenly, the ceiling ahead of her exploded, and she shakily held up her silenced pistol, knowing full well that she had expended her last round of ammunition minutes ago.
Mr. T floated down on a pillar of light, to the sound of a full angelic choir. "Mr. T! Oh, thank God it's you!" Melody cried out, rushing forward and enveloping the T in a hug.
"Shit, Melody, you know you can always count on the T. Now let's go take out these Tommunist fucksticks..."
Jane put down the thousand-page manuscript. After reading the first page, she had randomly flipped to one of the pages towards the middle. Disgusted by what she read there, she checked out several more pages throughout the story, and each was more revolting than the last. Setting down the most disturbing piece of erotica she had ever read, she looked at the other object that was in the shoebox hidden at the back of Daria's closet.
It was a Mr. T action figure. As she handled it, she wondered why it was so sticky. She suddenly remembered what she had just read, and dropped the soiled toy to run to the bathroom, in order to A. wash her hands, and B. vomit.
When she returned to Daria's room, Daria was there, waiting for her. The shoebox was on her lap.
"Uh, Daria...I can explain..."
Jane suddenly realized that the day was indeed the first of April, and broke out laughing. "Okay, good one, amiga."
That evening, after Jane had left, Daria reverently removed the shoebox from the garbage where she had theatrically tossed it in order to 'prove' to Jane that it was an elaborate joke. "I'm so sorry," she told the plastic countenance of Mr. T. "I couldn't let Jane find out the love that we share...she just wouldn't understand." Tears flowed down her face as she began kissing the cold, uncaring plastic.