Sitting and waiting for new episodes, visions of reruns dancing through the brain. A random neuron fires, visions of the future...
Helen awakes one morning with the stone cold realization that with Daria gone, the chance of intelligent discourse at home is somewhere between nil and none. That day she packs her bags, moves out, and files for divorce. Freed of all outside excess baggage, she devotes all her waking time and energy to her job. Within two years she is head honcoess of the law firm, pulling in the really big bucks. To celebrate her success, she moves into an exclusive penthouse condo, buys a mercedes convertible, and marries a mantoy trophy husband. Helen to an underling at the office Christmas party, "He's not much on conversation, but he's a hellofa great dancer, if you know what I mean.".
After Helen leaves him, Jake falls into a depression deeper than the deepest ocean trench. Unable to hold a job, he winds up on the street, homeless. During one of the severest winters on record, he dies from a combination of exposure and acute alcohol poisoning. Jake's last words, "Now I get it!".
I've got more, but if this has been done to death, tell me to stop now.