“Do you still have your SuicideGirls account?”, asked the Mad Hatter “You see, I’ve been trying to get ahold of one of my ex girlfriends. She’s on the site”. He fiddled with a teaspoon.
“Actually, a lot of my ex girlfriends are on the site”, he continued.
“I am so fucking drunk”, said the March Hare, to nobody in particular.
“Anyway,” continued the Mad Hatter “I dated a lot of girls that were naked on the internet. That’s just how I am. I’m so very talented. Did I tell you I tested into the 99th percentile? I have a blog, too, actually, and I’m very popular. Also, I love girls”, he finished, pouring more absinthe into what was left of his tea.
The Doormouse had been quiet up until this point.
“Then w-w-why do you have so many m-m-me-mens magazines?” said the Doormouse, seemingly with newfound confindence.
“Because I want to be a writer”, said the Mad Hatter matter of factly.
“W-w-writer’s w-w-write. You j-just talk like a loo-loo-looney tunes at a b-b-b-bus stop. There’s no f-f-filter. You don’t edit y-yourself at all and it-t-t-t seems edgy at f-f-f-first but it gets so w-w-weary after a w-w-while. Once in a while you’ll say something interesting but you have to w-w-wade through all this other shit to get to it”, said the Doormouse.
“But I’m well read! I’ve read J. Steinbeck! E. Hemingway! P. Hilton!” replied the Mad Hatter, disgusted.
“You just like being the center of atten-ten-tention”, said the Doormouse.
“Why are you called a Doormouse?” said the March Hare “You are not a *hic* door”.
The Mad Hatter continued. “I have a Twitter, you know”, he said, waving his arms in the air for emphasis “And I say very clever things on there”.
The March Hare threw up into a bowl he’d been hiding at his side.
“Sooooo fucking druuunk”, said the March Hare.
“Then w-w-why are you telling everybody?” said the Doormouse.
“I feel I have to”, said the March Hare, and passed out.
Alice wondered why she’d ever partaken in New Media at all. It had seemed so great at first, but now the Tea Party was drawing to a close and nobody was willing to leave. Thankfully, she knew this was all a bad opium trip and that soon it would all be over, anyway.