a poor mountaineer who barely kept his family straight.
Then one day he was shootin' at a squirrel,
and up from the ground came oil by the barrel.
(Black gold...Texas tea...)
Well, the first thing you know, ol' Jake's a billionaire.
His wife and two daughters said, "Move away from there!"
Said Maryland is the place they ought to travail,
So they loaded up the truck and they moved to Lawndale.
(High schools...Trent's guitar...)
The Lawndale Hillbillies!
*Awesome banjo solo*
XXXXXXXXXX
Jake Morgan drove a home-made pickup truck. It started life some thirty or forty years ago as a station wagon. Jake came into possession of it roughly twenty years after that (it was a present marking the birth of his first-born child, Daria) and that night, some say, after consuming enough moonshine to kill a normal man, he took a chainsaw to the car and converted it into a pickup. (Of course, the legend was wrong - Jake only had enough 'shine to blind a normal man. Which explains why, when he sobered up, he wondered how the firewood he thought he had cut up the night before had gotten un-cut).
That is the vehicle Jake used to drive his two girls, Daria and Quinn, to Lawndale High. He decided to offer up a few words of wisdom on this milestone. "Girls, me and your ma know it's tough livin' in the big city like this...'specially for you, Daria."
"'S tougher on some more'n others," Daria replied darkly.
Before enrolling them at Lawndale High, Jake had put them at Fielding. After all, he would spare no expense for his two little girls, especially now that he was an oil baron. That had lasted all of two hours, when Daria and Quinn had been expelled for 'unladylike behavior'. (Or, as Daria put it later, "Some cretin made a crack about Quinn's condition, so I broke his fuckin' arm.") The next day, he had taken them to Grove Hills. Jake hadn't even pulled out of the parking lot when Daria and Quinn walked out of the school and flagged him down. "Some dumbshit figgered he'd call me a moron and then put the moves on me," Daria explained. "I punched him in his fuckstick. Figger'd it'd be smarter to leave and not bother waitin' for the expulsion."
Thinking back on it, it pained Jake that his two girls would likely remain unladylike for the rest of their lives. He vaguely understood the importance of ladylike qualities (primarily, the impulse control that would prevent one from breaking a person's arm or genitalia upon the slightest provocation; secondarily, the use of language that wouldn't make a sailor blush).
Jake was unable to articulate these concerns, however.
"Now Daria, that ain't what I meant, and you know it. I know these cityfolk get on you and Quinn's nerves, but you gotta be patient with'em. You never know when you'll find one that's worth more'n a bucket of pi...spit. Why, jus' look at that Eric feller we got set up with. He sounds like a right good feller."
The lobotomized car pulled up to Lawndale High. Quinn planted a kiss on her father's cheek and managed to pull herself out of the car unassisted. Many of the students who had been milling around outside now stared at her in unison.
"Well?" Quinn said in agitation. "Ain't you ever seen a pregnant lady before?" She was well into her third trimester. She marched past them all, giving a death-glare to anybody who stared.
Daria made to leave. "You aren't gonna leave your paw without any sugar, are you?" he asked.
"Mn," Daria said, but she acquiesced and quickly pecked Jake's cheek as well.
"Can you promise you won't stir up much trouble?" he asked.
"I promise I won't do the stirrin'," Daria offered.
Jake nodded. "And promise you won't go messin' with any boys, like you did those two idjits back home."
"I promise," Daria sighed, now embarrassed. "Not like they had more 'tween their legs than they had 'tween their ears," she muttered.
Jake pretended he didn't hear that. "Okay, Daria. Now you go get some learnin' done, you hear?"
"Yes, paw," and Daria exited the car.
XXXX
Eric Schrecter was pacing nervously in his office. He had been given the job of managing the Morgans' financial assets. Financial law wasn't exactly Eric's forte, but the missive from on high had been clear: Eric was to bear the sole responsibility of the investment of the funds. If Eric did well at this, a hefty reward was guaranteed; senior partnership was implied. If he failed, or if the Morgans walked out on his watch...well, he would be thrown to the sharks. (And some of the rumors he'd heard about Mr. Vitale indicated that they wouldn't be metaphorical sharks, either).
His assistant, Marianne Hathaway, poked her head into the door. "Mr. Schrecter, the...uh...clients are here." A pained look was on her face. He briefly wondered what she was holding back from him, but disregarded it. "Send them in immediately." Marianne nodded and opened the door for the firm's two newest clients.
The man wore jeans that were worn at the knees, and a t-shirt adorned with the Tasmanian Devil wearing a leather jacket and revving up a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. The woman wore red sweatpants and a McCain/Palin '08 t-shirt.
He felt his mouth go dry. He almost checked to see if his bowels had evacuated themselves into his silk boxers. THESE were the Morgans? Either the firm was playing an elaborate practical joke at his expense, or God was. These people were worth more than the net worth of the entire city, for Christ's sake, and they come in here dressed like THAT? The man had a bum beard, for crying out loud. Not a well-kept beard, a BUM BEARD. Eric almost wanted to stand up and start shrieking out the sins the Morgans were committing against the gods of opulence.
Instead, he forced a smile and extended his hand for a handshake."Eric Schrecter, Mr. Morgan, Mrs. Morgan." Each shook his hand heartily. "I have to ask first - how are you enjoying your new mansion at Crewe Neck?"
Jake shrugged. "It's a nice enough place, I guess. Pretty big fer just the four of us, though."
"I love it!" the woman - Helen - trilled. "I can't remember the last time I was able to sleep with Jakey and not have anybody else hear."
Eric blushed at the revelation...and, to his credit, so did Jake. "Uh...yeah, that is one advantage," Eric managed to stammer out.
"In our old house, Quinn or Daria would bang on the wall whenever we got too loud. It was so embarassing! I sometimes wonder if it's what made Quinn so, ah, adventurous."
Eric felt his blush deepen, and made a mental notecard: Quinn Morgan - daughter - possible slut. He then swallowed and tried to force the image of Helen Morgan naked and moaning in pleasure out of his mind. "Your visit to our office today is mainly a formality...all you have to do is sign a few papers, and we'll make sure your money is safely invested and gets you a healthy return."
He presented Jake with a number of papers, each of which he diligently signed with an X. Eric rubbed the bridge of his nose and resolved to raid his aspirin bottle the second they were out the door.
Finally, Jake handed over the last of the papers. Eric filed them away, then pulled out one of his cards. "Here's my card. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me. My home and my cell are both on there, so any time of day, day or night, let me know."
"Well, I did have a few 'legal issues' I wanted to run by you," Jake said.
"Shoot."
"It's funny you say that, 'cause I wanted to register a few guns in this here state."
Eric nodded. "Okay. Do you have a list of the firearms in question?"
Jake shook his head. "I got 'em all up here," he said, tapping his skull for emphasis. He then began rattling them off, while Eric started taking notes. After a minute, he had put the pen down and was massaging his temples, in a futile attempt to ward off the migraine. After another minute, Jake finished rattling off the last of his extensive collection of firearms.
"Jake...I don't even know where to begin. I'm pretty sure at least half those are illegal, and I'm completely sure half of the remainder are VERY fucking illegal. I mean, what the hell do you need an assault rifle for, anyway?"
"Well, to hunt varmints. My family's gotta eat."
"Varmints? What varmints do you hunt with a Kalishnikov?"
"You mean the AK? Oh, you know, squirrels."
"Squirrels. It takes you a thirty-round clip to hunt squirrels."
"Them varmints move fast." Jake was completely serious.
Eric sighed, wishing a meteorite would come crashing through the roof and smash his skull in. "Jake...I'll see what I can do about your guns, but a lot of them you'll have to throw out or permanently disable them. I mean, I wouldn't tell the police if you didn't, but if you were caught with them, you would be facing a considerable prison sentence. And as for your...dietary needs, you can buy all the meat you want at a supermarket. You know that, right?"
Helen spoke up. "We couldn't do that!"
"Why not?"
"Because all the labels say the meat is from China! And you know what China does to their meat," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. Eric wanted to cry.
XXXXXXXXXX
Regarding the Morgendorffers becoming the Morgans: I had two reasons. 1. 'Morgendorffer' doesn't sound like a very hillbilly-ish name. 2. Jake's paw Mad Dog changed the family name from MOrgendorffer to Morgan during WWII to be patriotic. (After all, Morgendorffer sounds German).
I did a cursory search, and Marianne had no canon (or fanon) last name that I could find. Since this IS a Daria/Beverly Hills mashup, I couldn't resist making her the Miss Hathaway to Eric's Mr. Drysdale.
Helen doesn't have a hick accent, that's correct.
Oh, and the Jakemobile was inspired by a similarly-altered vehicle in The Tommyknockers.