Author's Note: Okay, I know it's been like forever and a day since I even glanced in the direction of this story but I made a deal with Bittah (love) and, as I intend to uphold my end of the bargain, here is the first of many new chapters of Curiouser and Curiouser. It's a little shorter than I wanted but that's only because if I started the next part (which promises to be quite amusing) it would never end.

Anywho, read, enjoy (review)… all that good stuff. Have a good holiday to those who celebrate and keep an eye out on this story. More is coming… woot. Also, the story told in this chapter is from Jokefile and it amused the hell out of me. I just had to share it :)

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Disney's live action musical: Newsies. No, I do not own Lewis Carroll's novel, Alice's Adventure's in Wonderland, nor Disney's cartoon version of Alice in Wonderland. I own Stress, her cat Ashes and her fixation with hopping newsies.

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Curiouser and Curiouser

December 23, 2006

Stress has accidentally stumbled into the wonderful world of Newsieland.
Will she ever get back home to New Jersey? Not if the Queen of New York has her way.

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Stress waited for a few minutes, anxious to see if Timber would return. She would not put it past the girl/cat/thing to come back with some other snarky reply and less-than-helpful advice. When she did not, she began to head down the street. At the very least, Timber had said that there were some people that could aid her in escaping from Newsieland. Now, what did she call them?

The Mad… Patch? March… Hair? Oy vey.

She shook her head and, figuring that if they could help her, it would be worth it, she continued walking. Just like it had been since she arrived in this strange universe – an alternate universe, if you will – she was alone on an empty street. There were various houses that dotted the street but each looked as if it belonged in scenery; surely no one actually lived in any of them.

In fact, from where she was, there only seemed to be one real, lived-in house. But, then again, she probably thought so because it was the only house in the vicinity that had smoke exiting from the over-sized chimney stack that protruded from it's cock-eyed roof. Every other house had the air of being made out of cardboard.

Whether that house belonged to the Mad Patch or not, Stress decided that she would check it out. She did not think that anyone else she would meet there could be any weirder than those she had encountered already during her adventure through Newsieland.

She was wrong, of course. She just did not know it yet.

Stress approached the house – it was small and covered in large blue polka dots for some reason; almost as if the house had contracted some weird house-type of measles – and gingerly knocked on the door. No one answered, so she knocked again, louder.

This time, she heard a boisterous laugh ring out. But it was not coming from inside of the house – it was coming from the backyard.

She shrugged and started to walk around the side of the house. If no one was going to answer the door, she would hunt them down herself and ask them for her help. She was quickly losing her reserves about bothering people – as it was, she was sincerely beginning to think that at some point after leaving her house that morning, she had been run over and this whole thing was really the result of being doped up on morphine in some hospital while people waited to see if she was going to die (so they could harvest her organs, of course).

At least, that was her plan (and her reasoning for remaining so calm after everything she had seen). However, once she made it into the backyard, and saw the set up that was back there, she paused, her plan forgotten. It was that… strange.

There was a round table – a huge round table that could easily fit thirty people; in fact, there were exactly thirty seats and thirty set places at this table – that took up nearly the entire yard. There was a ginormous pot in the center of the table and empty glasses and plates littering the top. At each place, there was an upright glass, about halfway filled – or empty, depending on your outlook – with a dark brown liquid.

Instead of a tablecloth on the table, it was protected by a three inch thick layer of newspapers, in varying states of decay – some white, some yellow, some brown. There were a variety of strange dishes placed sporadically over the table – Stress thought she might have seen knockwurst, but then realized that she had no clue as to what knockwurst looked like – and, amidst this amazing table, with all these drink and all this food, there were two people.

Only two people. To fill up that whole table.

They were sitting besides each other, laughing loudly and clanking glasses together before swallowing the brown liquid. Stress watched as they downed a glass each before climbing out of their wooden seats, moving down two places, and starting this process again when their glasses were empty.

She remained a spectator, trying to get a good look at the two people before her. One of them was a boy – he had dirty blond hair, a big smile and a bright blue eye… one bright blue eye; only one was visible as half of his face (the left side) was covered by a giant brown patch. The other person… thing?... was definitely female. She had brown hair, blue eyes and was wearing a cute little dress that matched the color of her eyes perfectly. However, just like Timber's strange catlike appearance, this girl had long, brown rabbit's ears with a tiny blue bow around the base of her ears.

Stress did a double take, checking to make sure that her eyes had not finally failed her but… no. First there had been a boy/caterpillar hybrid, then the girl/cat/thing and now, this: the March Hair. And, of course, the Mad Patch.

Just then, as she began to think – as they got up and swapped their places again – that there was no way that these two could help her, she was finally noticed. The boy saw her and jumped up.

"Hair, I do believe we have a visitor."

The girl followed suit, tossing her empty glass on the table.

"Well, Patchy, we should invite her to the celebration."

Celebration?

Before she could figure out just what they were celebrating, she had one of them on each side of her. Though Hair was nearly a foot smaller than her – and Stress had thought that she was short – she was just as strong as her counterpart and succeeded in helping the Mad Patch drag the stunned girl over to the table.

When Stress finally realized that she had basically been shanghaied in joining them, she saw that they had sat her in between the two of them – at a new place for each of them. The boy grabbed his glass in his hand and his companion did the same. Stress went to do the same when she realized that one of them had taken her glass, leaving her with none. She just dropped her empty hand.

The Mad Patch held his glass out. "To the celebration."

The March Hair did the same. "Ditto."

And then they both swallowed the contents of their glasses.

The Mad Patch smacked his lips together and tossed his glass onto the table. "Well, now that we've celebrated… who are you?"

Stress looked over her shoulder to check that he was talking to her – it was hard to tell where her was looking with that huge patch covering most of his face – and, when she was sure that he was, she swallowed. "Er… my name is Stress and—"

The March Hair's blue eyes lit up. "Stress? What an interesting name. Why, do you know that the name of 'stress' reminds me of a funny story? Would you like to hear it?"

The girl assumed that the March Hair was asking her because, to her left, she could see that the Mad Patch was already waiting for the story to begin; his eye was wide in anticipation, his mouth was hung open, and he had his chin rested on his palm. She nodded. "Sure."

"Okay. Here it goes:

Last week a friend of mine went to a seminar called 'Stress and Disease by Dr. Nickolas Hall', an expert in psychobiology. He gave an example of a coping skill for job stress that I would like to share with you.

When you have had one of those TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVE IT days, try this – on your way home after work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the section where they have thermometers. You will need to purchase a rectal thermometer made by Q-Tip. Be very sure that you get this brand.

When you get home, lock your doors, draw the drapes, and disconnect the phone so you will not be disturbed during your therapy. Change to very comfortable clothing, such as a sweat suit and lie down on your bed. Open the package containing the thermometer and remove the thermometer and carefully place it on the bedside table so that it will not become chipped or broken.

Take the written material that accompanies the thermometer and as you read it you will notice in small print the statement that every rectal thermometer made by Q-Tip is PERSONALLY tested.

Now close your eyes and say out loud five times: I am so glad that I do not work in quality control at the Q-Tip Company."

The March Hair could barely finish her story, she was giggling so hard. However, when she was done – or at least, Stress assumed she was done; she was not trying to slow her laughter anymore – she looked over at the girl and nodded. "Well?"

Stress laughed then – as did the Mad Patch… loudly – but her laughter did not last long. Before long Stress adopted an expression that she was becoming all too familiar with during her stay in Newsieland. She was confused. "Wait a second… If this is Newsieland – and I'm going out on a limb here and assume that, since this is Newsieland, you guys are living in a time quite unlike mine… I mean, shouldn't you be in 1899, or something."

The March Hair was looking quite pleased with herself for her humorous little story and, because of that, had no idea to be wary of the way Stress's backwards thought reasoning process worked, just nodded. "Or something," she agreed, smiling widely.

"Then how do you guys know about Q-tip? A telephone? Job stress? Hell, how do you even know about butt thermometers?"

The March Hair looked stumped. She opened her mouth the reply but no sound came out. At least, no from her.

The Mad Patch stood up and slammed his hands on the table. "Move down, everyone. I need more sarsaparilla!"

And, instead of answering her question, both the Mad Patch and the March Hair rose up from their empty places and took new seats. They left an opening between them which Stress, still confused and a little bit slower than her hyper hosts, took. She wanted to ask them again but, on a second thought, decided against it.

Why? Simple. Her attention span was limited to about three second as it was and, when they took their new seats, she saw that she was facing the back of the ginormous pot that took up most of the table. And, on the back on the pot, there were air holes and a warning.

Danger. Live Animal Inside. Beware of T.A.R.K.

And, to Stress, learning what the hell the Mad Patch and the March Hair kept in that pot was more important than trying to figure out where the crazy rabbit-girl got her material from. At least, until they took her off the drip.