From: Lisa Wolters Subject: DTD: Third Season's Greetings Nick bravely faced the elevator as it opened to reveal two figures: one, an approximately 25-year-old (physically) man with pale skin, soulful eyes, a five o'clock shadow and shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a Brad Pitt-like ponytail; the other, a 25-year-old blonde bombshell wearing a tube top, micro-mini and silk stalkings---oops! stockings---who made Alix Logan look like Mother Theresa. "Damn USA!" Nick cursed loudly. The Alix clone turned to the Brad clone, her vacant blue eyes wide. "Like, I thought this show was made in Canada?" she purred, raking her red fingernails through Brad's exposed chest hair in a misguided effort to lure new viewers. Helplessly, Nick reached for his cellular phone and punched the well-worn button for The Raven, looking for some form of release, though he knew by heart the cold response he'd receive there: *We're sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected...* He still couldn't believe that Janette had skipped town to pursue a career in "dinner" theater. She hadn't even said goodbye. _And_ she had his DaVinci! He ran a hand through his overly-moussed, blow dryer-damaged, slightly receding blonde hair and stole an envious glance at Brad's lush locks---and at Alix plastered to the young vamp's face. That reminded him of Natalie. She'd be home by now, curled up with her cat and a microwave dinner for one. He had to talk to her! He hit speed dial #2 (remembering how he'd told her on Valentine's Day that although she was #2 on his cell phone, she'd always be #1 in his heart...) and whimpered slightly as her machine picked up: *Yo! You've reached Nat's Love Shack. I'm eaither out partying with some handsome boy...or out partying with some handsome boy. Get a life or leave a message; it's up to you!* In desperation, Nick dashed to the kitchen and double-checked the color of the blood in the bags. Red, not guilt-driven-dream gold! But it was when the elevator opened again and deposited LaCroix and Don Knotts in his living room that he knew, for once and for all, that he was damned beyond salvation, beyond future syndication, not to mention a really cool posable Nick action figure with life-like hair... "Nicholas!" LaCroix intoned, far more evil than in any flashback. "Your new captain"---he clapped Don Knotts on the back, causing the aging comedian's eyes to pop in a Mr. Furley-like parody---"is about to become the newest member of our little community. He will make a far more...amusing...companion than Janette, don't you think?" And with that, Nick spontaneously combusted, thus ending his nights, forever. >WARNING: SENSELESS VIOLENCE AHEAD!< Meanwhile, on the street below, several local gang members searched the Caddy with contempt. No CD player, no car phone, no valuables...not even a heater that worked. Just a couple bottles of cheap wine in the trunk. They took those, "tagged" the aqua-green auto with their spray paint, slashed the tires for good measure, and disappeared back into the darkness. The End