Daria has something to say...
As Daria took the stage, her foot nudged a strange can that was next to the microphone but she gave no hint of what was inside it.
"Hello everyone," Daria said into the microphone, "I have something to say and you are going to listen, because it's in the narrative."
She cleared her throat and began to speak.
"In this era of collapsing banks, whistleblowers that are vilified while authoritarian regimes are praised. In an era where democracies vote in theocrats and neo-fascists in the name of anti-americanism, when the global economy is giving rise to a handful of powerful plutocrats with a near-monopoly on the means of production and the people rant and rave about the threats of evolution and the hoax of global warming. In this era where intellectualism is looked down upon while toilet humor has been hoisted to the rarefied strata of fine art. In an era in which the people should have risen up long ago, instead can barely reach their rascals to make it to the fridge without suffering massive heart attacks. In this world that has clearly woven a series of collectable hand baskets for our collective trip into hell I offer simply this."
Daria picked up the can and opened it and poured the yellowish liquid inside all over her body and pulled out a match.
"Fuck this shit, I'm getting off this merry-go-round of suck before it gets any worse."
She then lit the match on the stem of the microphone and pressed it to her soaked coat, which proceeded to burst the combustible chemical into beautiful flames.
Daria then flailed her arms around like a wacky inflated wailing arm tube man until she died.
