STARCHED HAIR. Who are you, lady? A protester or a newscaster? Either way, you're fired! Only loyalists are allowed at my rallies. Identify yourself.
SARAH. My name is Sarah and I'm looking for Wonderland.
STARCHED HAIR. Well, you've come to the wrong place. This is Blunderland.
SARAH. The Mad Hatter and the March Hare--those guys are not here?.
STARCHED HAIR. If you mean the Mad Hater, Bill O'Reilly is on vacation. If he was here, I'd give him a good punch in the face.
SARAH. For what??
STARCHED HAIR. For disagreeing with me about foreign trade. I don't need his support. I got David Duke and the Ku Klux Klan, though don't ask me who they are.
SARAH. Well, then, if you're not the Mad Hatter, you must be the March Hare.
STARCHED HAIR. Actually, my name is Starched Hair. Swear not to touch it. And I'll promise not to talk about your massive plastic surgeries that didn't work.
SARAH. So where is Wonderland?
STARCHED HAIR. Wonderland is over on the left bank of everywhere. This is Blunderland, dummy, on the right bank of nowhere. And I say, You're fired.
SARAH. I am? But I was never hired.
STARCHED HAIR. All right, then, you're hired, and you're fired, and off with your head!
SARAH. Off with your head! Isn't that the campaign motto of the Red Queen!
STARCHED HAIR. There's no room in Blunderland for Reds or queens or any other kind of Commie immigrants. We got too many already in the White House.
SARAH. Where I hail from, we got room for any true red-blooded Alaskan! Oceans of seawater. Gallons of oil. Drill, baby, drill.
STARCHED HAIR. Stop screaming. I'm the only one around here allowed to rant and rave. This is a quiet retreat.
SARAH. Never retreat. Advance! Reload!
STARCHED HAIR. Now you're talking my cup of tea. Here have a sip.
SARAH.) You betcha!
STARCHED HAIR. You betcha! Aha, now I know who you are. The hockey mom who draws cross hairs over any Mexican rapist supporting Obamacare.
SARAH. Cross hairs?! That's a blood libel.
STARCHED HAIR. You never draw cross hairs over the faces of your political enemies?
SARAH. They wasn't cross hairs, they was surveyor symbols.
STARCHED HAIR. I can tell a gun sight from a home site. And they was cross hairs!
SARAH. Well, the Constitution guarantees a well-regulated militia, where the people can bear arms and draw cross hairs.
STARCHED HAIR. Speaking of bare arms, cover yours. This is a Tea Party, not a strip joint. And do you mind backing up a little? Your breath is very bad.
SARAH. I am totally opposed to stripping, petting, smooching, necking, cheating, teen-age pregnancy, abortion, same-sex marriage, and bad breath.
STARCHED HAIR. So what kind of behavior do you favor?
SARAH. Total abstinence.
STARCHED HAIR. I haven't tried that particular position yet. What's the advantage?
SARAH. Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder.
STARCHED HAIR. Well, as you can see from the size of my hands, abstinence isn't a word I often use. Anyway, it's got too many syllables for an American! I knew you was an illegal immigrant the first time I saw you! I bet you wasn't even born in the US of A.
SARAH. I'm talking about Alaska, now, not Hawaii! The pure American landscape. Porpoises. Caribou. Oil rigs. Refineries.
STARCHED HAIR. Don't forget China. I don't like them but I just bought some real estate there for fifteen million dollars.
SARAH. Anything that puts a little cash in your pocket.
STARCHED HAIR. Now you're talking my language. Welcome to Blunderland! Take a seat at the table.
(Pause) Here's a question. Why did you say that our Muslim President should refudiate the Grand Mosque on Ground Zero? What did you mean when you said you had misunderestimated him?
SARAH. I admit I wee-weed up the language a little there. But remember, Shakespeare also liked to invent new words.
STARCHED HAIR. Who's Shakespeare?
SARAH. A famous speechwriter for dead English kings.
STARCHED HAIR. Another rapist immigrant? He's fired, too!
SARAH. I like you. You speak my language. You can join me any time for a tour of Sarah's Alaska.
STARCHED HAIR. So you're still insisting that Alaska is part of America?
SARAH. The highest part. I can even see
Russia from my third floor window. (Looking at Starched Hair's watch) What a funny watch you're wearing. It tells the day of the month, but doesn't say what time it is.
STARCHED HAIR. That's because it's always tea time in Blunderland.
SARAH. So that's the reason for all those teacups on the table.
STARCHED HAIR. That, and because we've got no illegal immigrants here to do the washing up.
STARCHED HAIR. Then let's move somewhere else.
SARAH. Where?
STARCHED HAIR. To that bigger Blunderland in the District of Columbia. You could be my second in command. Are you ready for that?
SARAH. My voices tell me God has a mission for me there.
STARCHED HAIR. You have the ear of God?
SARAH. I would never presume to know God's will or speak God's words. But the good Lord has told me to abolish health care, zero social security, dissolve trade unions, stamp out planned parenthood, and criminalize gay and premarital sex, meanwhile keeping a close eye on Russia from my third floor window.
STARCHED HAIR. Okay, you're not fired, because you're a real homegrown patriot with your own personal arsenal. Pack up the tea things and stow them in the bunker. We're moving Blunderland to the White House.
SARAH. Immediately.
STARCHED HAIR. Inevitably.
SARAH. Irretrievably.
STARCHED HAIR. Indubitably.
SARAH. I getcha! You betcha! Good to have metcha!
End of play.