“Follow me down, Alice Faye Dahl. I know the way.”

“Must be the hair then. And the name change. And your new piss-poor attitude. Because every once in a while, I look at you and I don’t see a Baby Doll anymore. I just see Alice Faye Dahl, Poker Champion Badass. With obvious, heavy influences from Ronald McDonald, of course.”

“Who are you? Rabbit and Souris call you ‘Alice,’ me and Dee call you ‘Faye.’ I just didn’t know if ‘Alice’ was your poker-playing, Southern Hemisphere name or what. Hey, I’m just trying to fit in here. If I should be introducing myself as ‘Clark,’ I want to know about it sooner rather than later so I don’t embarrass myself.”

“Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say that 'Alice Faye picked a peck of pepper for the poor, piping pig in the purple poke.' Wait—is that not what we’re talking about here?”

“Don’t make me Alice-nap you, Alice. Because you know I can carry you.”

“Be a good little Alice and just follow the White Rabbit, okay?”

“Like your sweet, affectionate house cat, Alice Dahl is easy to underestimate. It’s not until the songbirds in the yard show up eviscerated on the front porch that you realize you should’ve kept that bell collar on her—because those poor birds never even saw her coming.”