this is a truly disturbing idea that popped into my mind last night. i need opinions! and if you don't get it, think cliche 50s-sitcom.

"Roger, wake up, it's an emergency…"

"Mmhmm…Mimi, go away, I'm tired…"

"Roger, get your ass up…c'mon, Rog…"

"Mimi, I don't care what mood you're in, go away…"

"ROGER!"

"Mimi, I'm not a machine!" Roger sat up sharply, his eyes flickering between sleep and waking. He heard a strange sound. Something that he knew he heard before, but not recently. Wait…it sounded like...

"Mark, why am I hearing a laugh track?" Roger asked, rubbing his eyes and pushing the fogginess in his mind away. Mark's voice was bitter as he replied from beside Roger.

"I hate to do this to you, Roger, but open your eyes." Roger lowered his hands and blinked. Then he looked around. Then he blinked again.

"Um…Mark?"

"Yup?"

"I have a few questions." Roger's eyes were huge. "First of all, where the hell are we?" He glanced at Mark. "And for the love of god, why are you wearing a dress?"

The laugh track boomed out of nowhere. Roger shrieked and practically leapt onto Mark, who shoved him away. Roger stared around at what had been the loft when he went to sleep. It was a cozy little house now, complete with flowered drapes and shiny coffee tables. Armchairs squatted on either side of him, and the wallpaper was tasteful. From an unseen kitchen, Roger could smell bacon cooking. He looked down at himself. He was wearing kiddie pajamas with cowboys on them. They had built-in feet. Mark, who was standing beside Roger where he lay on the floor, was wearing a housewife's dress with an apron and slight high heels. He was also wearing pantyhose. Roger mouthed silently.

"Yeah, I have no idea what the hell is going on either," said Mark with a shrug. "I woke up and the loft looked like something out of The Dick Van Dyke Show. Plus, I was wearing this crap. Incidentally, I don't know how girls can do it, these tights or whatever ride up horribly." Mark tugged at the back of his dress. Roger whacked his leg to get him to stop and then jumped as the laugh track screeched from all around him.

"Mark, I'm…I'm wearing footsie pajamas. And you're dressed like my mother. And the loft is something like my personal picture of hell. And—"

"Someone better explain what the fuck is going on here!" shouted Mimi as she stormed in. She too was not exactly normally dressed. Mimi was wearing a long, saggy blue dress and a cream cardigan. Her hair was done up in a bun and two granny glasses were perched crookedly on her nose. She looked like a seventy-year-old. Still, her clothes didn't seem to have changed her temper, for she stomped inside with blazing eyes.

"I wake up and my apartment has yellow wallpaper, these horrible dentures floating a cup by my bed, and it smells like cats! And now…oh holy fuck, what happened here? And what happened to you two?" Mimi was staring at them. Roger clambered to his feet, cursing the footsie pajamas as he did so. The laugh track roared, giving him a headache.

"Mimi, we have no idea what's going. We woke up like this too." Mark shrugged. Roger up at the ceiling. He saw no trapdoor or speaker from which the accursed laughter was coming from. However, he did have a very strong and sudden urge to suck his thumb and call the laughers meanie-pants.

"Well, we've obviously either gone insane or this is a dream." Mimi sighed. "If it's a dream, everyone else will probably be here too. I bet that sooner or later, someone is going to stick their head in that door," she gestured at the gleaming white door that she had come through, "and say—"

"Honey, I'm home!" shouted Maureen as she leapt inside. Mimi screamed, and Mark grabbed Roger's arm. Maureen was covered in fur. Completely covered. And the fur was fluffy. Dark brown, fluffy fur that gave off the odor of chew toys. Two bright eyes peeped out from underneath the fringe above her eyes, and her mouth hung open to reveal sharp white teeth and a red tongue. Her fingernails were long and curvy, and her hands seemed to have paw-like pads. She looked like the Wolf Man.

"Oh my god, it's here too! Sweet!" Maureen barked as she somersaulted around the room in a frenzy of delight. The laugh track thundered. Mark, Roger, and Mimi ignored both of them. They were too busy staring at the others.

Collins was the one who looked the most normal (not normal for Collins, but normal in a sane-world kind of way). He was wearing a light brown suit and a red tie, with a smart hat that matched the suit in color. He had a briefcase in one hand, and a newspaper in the other. The expression on his face was murderous.

Joanne stood beside him, grinding her teeth together. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was done up in two giant pigtails that stuck straight out from her head like branches, each one tied with bright pink ribbons. Her dress was also bright pink, and it had a lacy, frilly, spangled skirt that stopped far before her knees. The sleeves were short and puffed; they, like the whole dress, were smothered in lace. Her shoes were brightly polished Mary Janes, and her cheeks were unnaturally pink. In one hand was clutched a doll with bright blond hair and a version of the pink frilly dress that Joanne was wearing.

"I want to know who is responsible for making me wear this, and I want to know now," Collins growled. You might think he was over-reacting unless you know just how badly Collins hated suits. Mark put one hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow.

"Collins, you think you're badly off?" More laugh track. Collins stared at the three of them. Joanne marched over to the couch and sat down angrily, her skirt rustling like a truck full of doilies.

"Whoever's doing this, I'll sue him for everything that bastard's got," she muttered. Mimi sat down beside her, mouth open at the sight of the dress. Maureen was cart-wheeling around the house, giggling madly.

"Are you kidding? I'm a dog! It's great! I'm great! Weee!" She pounced on Collins, pawing the front of his shirt. He pushed her away disgustedly. The laugh track sounded again, louder than ever. Maureen yipped and ran over to Roger, who laughed as she jumped in the air.

"You're so funny, doggy!" he said happily. Then he slammed a hand over his own mouth in horror. Collins groaned.

"What's going on? We all found ourselves in this weird little house…kind of like this one, actually," he said, looking around. Mark sighed.

"It's not much, but I try to make it homey." Collins nodded, then did a double take.

"Wait. What did you say?" Mark looked terrified.

"I don't want to know." Another wave of tinny laughter. Roger winced. Collins walked over to the couch where Mimi and Joanne were sitting. He cleared his throat.

"Unless I'm mistaken about those soaps my cousin used to watch every time we went to visit her, we seem to have been thrust into a sort of I Love Lucy-Leave It To Beaver alternate universe. And frankly, I hope to God I'm mistaken." The others looked at him in total horror. Joanne thrust the dolly at Mimi and stood up. Her skirt flounced up, and Mimi shut her eyes tightly.

"I think this is a very bad dream. I want out. NOW." She made for the door, but before she could open it, Angel stepped into the door frame. Or someone who looked a little bit like Angel, at least. A very old man with a long grey-white beard, suspenders, and orthopedic shoes who looked a little bit like Angel.

"Ok, since when did I become a grandpa?" Angel asked with a carefully controlled voice.

bizarre. VERY bizarre.