--In which things take a turn for the strange.--

The Glass Castle was a serene sight on an afternoon in late May. Unfortunately, it was mid-November and it was also three in the morning, when all should be sleeping. Everyone was, or at least everyone important, especially Itsy, who was hopefully enjoying her eternal nap. Alright, so Polly was sleeping.
"George, what is this all about?" groaned Paul. "It's three in the morning."
"Cattle," yawned the Sun King.
"Cattle? As in cows?"
"Yep," he answered. "The Sun God has declared war on me. It seems the cattle are still upset about the famine and the weasels revolting."
"What?"
"The cattle of the Sun God are revolting!" George said.
"Well, they're not so bad if you use a little A1 sauce," commented Paul.
"No, that's not what I meant. They're revolting against their inability to revolt."
"Spoiled heffers," muttered Paul. "So what do we do about it?"
There was a noise from the hallway. "Thu-thump!"
"Did you hear that?" whispered George.
"Yeah, so?" Paul replied, coolly.
"It was like a 'Thu-thump!' sound, right?"
"Uh-huh,"
"Doesn't it disturb you in the least?!" whispered the King, looking worried.
"George, you have four kids running around," reminded Paul.
"Oh, of course," sighed the King, relaxing.
"Thu-thump!"
"There it is again!" whispered George.
"Oh, come on! Look, it's probably just..." he got up and went to the door, to show the nervous King that he had nothing to fear. He continued smugly, "Look, it's noth--aaagh!"
Polly burst into the room in camouflage, complete with face-paint and a hat. "Like my Radon-Blaster?" she asked with enthusiasm, holding up a huge high-tech gun.
"Polly?! Where did you get that?!" screamed Paul. Polly shrugged.
"I don't know...?"
"You don't sound very sure about that," he pointed out.
"I was sleep-walking again," she explained. "I woke up on a park bench like this." She held the space-age weapon up to his face. "Isn't it spiffy?" she asked.
Paul smiled nervously. "Yeah, sure dear. Now, if you don't mind, I'd prefer if you didn't-"
"I got you one too!" she said, lowering hers, and whipping out another one. "Want it? 'Cause I'll keep it if you don't."
"Polly, I think it's time for your nap," insisted Paul.
"You're just mad because you don't have a cool hat like mine."
"You're right," he admitted. "Now run off to bed."
"Okay," She gave him a kiss, and went off down the hallway, shooting things as she went along.
"And wash your face!" he shouted after her, "I don't want to wake up to that in the morning!" He turned to George. "Where were we?"
George shrugged.

Paul sat awake in bed the next morning. He turned to see his still sleeping wife. Her face was covered in green, brown, and black camouflaged paint. He sighed.

"George," Paul started as he walked downstairs.
"Yeah?" asked the King, who yawned.
"I'm worried about Polly," he continued, running his left hand through his tangled brown hair.
"Aren't we all?" retorted the King, as he poured himself a steaming hot cup of coffee, which was just imported from Cuba. He took a sip. "Ah, good stuff," he commented.
"I'm serious, George! There's something wrong with her!"
"How do you mean?" asked George, opening a packet of saccharine and pouring it into his coffee and cream, and the copy machine's not working. "She seems alright to me."
"But you don't know her like I do," Paul said.
"And I intend on keeping it that way," stated the King.
"But haven't you noticed anything unusual about her lately?" asked the bored bard. "I mean, last night she came home with artillery! Yesterday morning she ate an entire chocolate cake, three boxes of Raisin Bran, and a jar of pickles! Two days ago she wouldn't stop talking about the Solar Spectrum and how people that are colour-blind depress her, then she stuck a pencil in my ear! And that's just the beginning! She started to-"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" shouted the King. "I get the point! Itsy used to do things like that..." he sighed.
"Oh, boy. Not again," groaned Paul. "I feel a song coming on." In the background sappy music began to play. "Geez, even I'm not THAT bad!" He made a face.
The King opened his mouth to sing, but Stan the Guard turned off the music just in time. George looked hurt.
Polly flew down the stairs... quite literally. On her back she had an odd contraption with a helicopter propeller. She was still in camouflage, but she also had silly-looking goggles over her eyes. "Okay, who's playing the sappy music again?" she asked, then added, "They produce cheese, like the stuff in Switzerland..."
"What?!" screamed Paul, "Stop it Polly, you're driving me nuts!"
"I'm not even gonna bother, it's too easy," sighed the King to himself.
"I HEARD THAT!" shouted an angry Paul, "Listen , you eye-ball poking, snugger-knukkered, Chinese-librarian's monkey-boy! I don't like that!"
George laughed hysterically.
"You CHUNKY, CHEEKY LITTLE MONKEY!" shouted Paul, his face as red as an embarrassed Kiki.
"PAUL! STOP IT!" shouted Polly, through a megaphone she'd just pulled out of nowhere. Paul looked hurt, then angered again.
"YOU!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his silly-looking wife. "This is all YOUR fault!"
"MY fault?! How?"
"No, not you George - POLLY!" said Polly, then caught herself. "Wait a minute... ME?!"
"YES, YOU!" shouted Paul, growing more and more frustrated as this very confusing conversation and confrontation went on.
"How is it MY fault?!" screamed Polly, "I haven't done nothin' nor seen nobody, I'm a good girl, I am!"
"Well, there's something wrong with you, and you won't tell me," stated Paul. "You're hiding something!"
"Polly laughed. "Me? Hide something from you?"
"It sounds strange, but it's true, and you know it!" he shouted, "Why won't you just tell me? -- It's about DAVEY isn't it?! Why, I'll pound his Bozo-headed, three-toothed-"
"Get off it! I'm not leaving you for a bad rip-off of yourself!"
During the confusion, George had left and was enjoying a nice game of badminton against some guy named Jonas, who had appeared out of a bush in the courtyard. Jonas was winning.
"Where's the birdie?" asked George.
"Huh?" asked Jonas. "Oh yeah, I... uh... hit it... yeah... uh... over... ah... THERE!" The King looked.
"I don't see it," he said. When he turned back around Jonas had disappeared. "Uh, Jonas? Oh well, I won then. But where's the birdie?"

Later, George passed by the bathroom. It was locked. "Oh well," sighed George.

AN HOUR PASSED...

Polly came to the bathroom. It was locked, so she knocked on the door. "Don't bother me!" called Paul's voice from inside.
"Are you mad at me?" Polly asked.
"Yes, but that's not why I'm in here."
"Constipation?" she asked.
"No!" he shouted, "Now go away!"

TWO OR THREE HOURS PASSED...

"Geez Paul, I gotta go!" George whined outside the still locked bathroom door. "What're you doing in there anyway? Writing a freakin' symphony?!"
"Yeah, what else?" he replied.
"GET OUT!" ordered the King. "Other people, most importantly me, NEED to use the bathroom! Now get out before I get really angry!"
"Oh, okay..." mumbled the bored bard. Sounds of crumpled papers and a bunch of clanking pencils was heard, then the toilet was flushed. Paul walked out, carrying with him a hundred or so papers and about fourteen pencils.
"Did you wash your hands?" asked George.
"I didn't go," stated Paul. The King glared at him as he made his way down the hallway, dropping papers as he went along.

He entered his room and shut the door behind him. Then he dropped the papers and pencils onto the desk, knocking over everything else that just a second ago was resting peacefully on it.
"What the heck were you doing in the bathroom for four and a half hours?" a voice called angrily from underneath the bed.
"I'm not going to tell you," Paul said coldly.
"Don't pull that on me!" the voice shouted, "I have my reasons to keep this from you."
"Yeah, well I've got my reasons too!"
"Like what?!"
"YOU'RE hiding something from ME!" he shouted as Polly climbed out from under the bed. "What were you doing under there anyway?" "I can't tell you 'cause you won't tell me why you locked yourself in the bathroom," she replied smugly.
"You are the most immature person I've ever met!" he shouted.
"Yeah, well, you're just jealous because the little voices talk to me!" she concluded.
"Tell your little voices to shut up! I can't hear mine!" Paul hollered.
"You're a superb manager, Paul," stated Polly.
"KEEP IT UP POLLY!" shouted Paul with anger.
"Superb."
He grabbed her and threw her into the other room. There was the sound of an obvious fight. Then Polly flew out the door. "You know you deserved that."
"Yeah, yeah..."

Later, Paul ran out the Castle gate. "I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE!"
"Paul, come back -- please!" cried Polly, tears in her eyes.
"I have to leave, I have no choice!" he said.
"But if it's that bad I'll tell you-"
"Nope, I'll find out from a reliable source," said he.
"I'M not a reliable enough source?!" shouted she.
"Enough!" he said, "I must go. Farewell my love."
Polly sighed. "You still love me?"
"Of course I still love you!"
"But-"
"It IS possible to be mad at someone and still love them, dear."
"Oh," she said. "Don't leave!"
"Good-bye, Polly." Then he left down the Long And Winding Road.

No sooner had Paul left then he heard a loud noise that seemed to be coming from the sky. He looked up to see a huge white space-craft lower itself down in front of him. An automatic door slid open, shortly followed by a ghastly and extremely depressed mechanical groan. Other than the fact that it sounded mechanical, Paul was instantly reminded of Jessie by the sarcastic remark made by the voice following the moan.
The instant that he thought of this happened to be the same one in which the depressed jester herself walked out the doorway to find herself standing in front of him.
"AAAAAGGHH!" she screamed out of shock, "You?!"
"What about me?" he asked smugly.
"You can NOT be..." she stuttered, "You are NOT...you CAN'T..."
"What?" Paul asked, confused.
Jessie fainted. Paul shrugged.
A moment later a man stepped out of the ship, looked around, and finally exclaimed "EARTH!" and kissed the ground at his feet. He then looked around again, and an overwhelming look of sadness engulfed his face. "Come on Jess, let's get out of here." He looked at her, then over at Paul, then at a flock of birds in the cloudless blue sky. "We must've taken a wrong turn looking for Zaphod," he continued.
Jessie awoke and stumbled to her feet. She was no longer in her usual jester attire, which she hadn't worn in years, but in a dismal black dress. (That she'd bought at a store called 'African Swallow,' despite a girl who almost killed her with a paper-clip over buying the last one before she had gotten to it.) She also had grown out her hair, that had recently been dyed purple with a silver streak down one side.
"A-Arthur..." she stuttered, "Th-th-this is-s my friends-s h-husband, P-Paul."
"Glad to meet you," he greeted, still watching the birds.
"A-A-Arthur!" "H-hello K-K-K-Ken's p-p-p-pets!" laughed Paul.
"Shut up!" shouted Jessie, out of hatred for him.
"I don't need this!" snapped Paul. "I've had a horrible day!" He looked slightly embarrassed and quieted down.
"What happened?" asked Jessie, grinning evilly. Paul sulked a bit. "Polly beat me up," he said with a slightly embarrassed cough.
Jessie blinked a few times, then fell over, laughing.
"Hey, shut up, man!"
Suddenly, a rather cheerful computer's voice sang out from the ship. "Hi there, Mr. Beeblebrox! If you'd care to step inside then we could get going on our journey to...well, wherever you like, Sir."
Jessie and Arthur stared at Paul in astonishment. Paul looked behind him. "Is it talking to me?"
Jessie gasped.
"Zaphod?" asked Arthur. "It's really you!"
"Zaphod?" asked Paul. "No, no, I'm Paul. You've got the wrong guy... I think..."

Minutes later, Paul was forced into the ship, looking more confused than he'd ever looked before in his life... or death.
"He is NOT Zaphod Beeblebrox! He is NOT!" insisted Jessie.
"I'm not," agreed Paul.
"Here, I'll prove it!" she said, handing Paul a drink. "Here, try this," she said.
"Jessie!" Arthur yelled, grabbing the glass away. "A Pan-Galactic-Gargle-Blaster?! You'll kill him if he's NOT Zaphod!"

"That was the point!" she smirked. "Don't worry, I'll just come back anyway," said Paul.
"With any luck you won't," muttered Jessie.
"Did you say Pan-Galactic-Gargle-Blaster?" Paul asked, and Arthur nodded. "So THAT'S what Polly's always complaining about when she gets hung-over. I might as well try it. I've got a feeling I'll need it." He took the glass and drank the liquid substance inside.
Paul looked dizzy, then sleepy, then paranoid, and then back to his normal state of confusion. "Holy Zarquan! Wowee!" exclaimed a very high Paul.
"He's Zaphod alright," urged Arthur.
Jessie rolled her eyes in disgust. "Where's Marvin when you need 'em?" she muttered.
"Right here," answered a mechanical voice, that sounded as though it were about to shut itself down any minute. "Not that anyone cares..." it droned.
"So..." started Arthur, changing the subject. "Where've ya been Zaphod?"
"Ya know Earthman, I completely forgot," Paul answered.
"What happened to you? Where's your second head -- and third arm?"
"Lost 'em I suppose," concluded Paul. "Wait, am I really... me?"
"Of course," said Arthur. "Couldn't possibly be anyone else, could it?"
Paul looked around. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.
"Never you mind," said Arthur. "Just sit and relax."
"Share and enjoy," added an odd computer from across the room.
"Mmm...SPAMarchy..." sung a disembodied head that had just come floating past them for no apparent reason whatever.
"I seem to be having tremendous difficulty with my lifestyle," Jessie said a bit bitterly, just before she and Marvin decided that enough was enough and left.
"Life... Don't even talk to me about life," intoned the paranoid android as he followed her.

After traveling (and partying) around the Universe for a few millennia, Paul (or Zaphod) said that it would be a real good idea for him to return to Earth, where he still had yet to discover what he knew he had once intended to find out in the first place. They took him back to the exact same place and time in which they'd found him.
"Now what the photon was I doing here?" he asked himself, then continued on his way down the road.

The sun was setting peacefully in the late afternoon sky, like a rather large man watching football and downing a few beers after a large Thanksgiving dinner on a Saturday in early January. Paul had finally found the temple of the Holy Artichoke of Jerusalem, where, he had heard from numerous sources, was 'quite a swingin' place to solve you problems -- or forget them.' Either way, he decided, it should be interesting.
The temple was in the shape of a large tube, standing erect and reaching to the sky. On top, a large, circular disk hovered. It appeared to have a large chunk of it missing, but Paul didn't really think about it until after the upcoming bizarre event.
He strolled up to the door and knocked. The door itself was made of similar, round, coloured disks, like the one hovering over the building. It also had a stylistic inscription, reading 'N8N', designed neatly in the middle. the door swung open.
"Welcome to Natan's House of Mentoes!" greeted a guy, holding a badminton birdie in one hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," apologized the bored bard. "I thought this was the Temple of the Holy-"
"Artichoke?" he asked. Paul nodded. "Yes, welcome to the temple. Allow myself to introduce... Myself. My name is Jonas, I work for Natan, who works for the Artichoke. May I take your coat?"
"I'm not wearing a coat," Paul said, looking at him weirdly.
"Very well then, come right in," said Jonas. "He's expecting you."
"Really?" asked Paul.
"Yep, we've been waiting all day for you to come and fix the septic tank."
"Septic tank? No, I'm just here for some advice, or whatever goes on around here." Paul explained.
"Oh, well walk this way." said Jonas, throwing the birdie across the room, where it hit a switch, turning on many multi-coloured lights and strange techno music by 'Prodigy' began to play. In the middle of one large spotlight sat another odd-looking guy wearing a skater-sweater, a pair of Jncos (stolen from Jessie,) sunglasses, a navy-blue fisherman's hat, and a pacifier on a string around his neck. He had a silly sock-puppet in one hand.
"Shh!" hissed Jonas. "It's late afternoon chant-time."
The guy in the fisherman's hat chanted softly,"...fresh goes better with Mentoes, fresh and full of life..."
"Chant-times over." Jonas informed.
"Mentoes! The Freshmaker!" said the guy. He looked up. "Hello Jonas, I see the plumber's here."
"I'm NOT the plumber!" muttered Paul.
"He's not the plumber." repeated Jonas. "He's here for advice."
"Oh, skimmerific!" said the guy, who was apparently Natan. "Say 'hello' to the Artichoke." he said, holding out the puppet.
"Hi?" Paul said. "This is getting weird..." he thought to himself.
"You seek advice from the Artichoke, I gather." Natan said casually as Jonas picked up the birdie and threw it at another switch, to the projector. "Watch the slide."
"The screen stood blank. "Nevermind the slide," decided Natan, and Jonas got up to make shadow puppets.
"Look.. .a dog!" he exclaimed proudly. "Woof, woof!" He changed around his fingers. "And... and... an eagle!"
"That's good Jonas." said Natan, "But the Artichoke has work to do."
"One more, one more!" pleaded Jonas. "Look...it's the Notoriously Vicious Rabid Chipmunk!" This caused Paul to dash off behind a chair, out of cowardice.
"Stop it Jonas, you've scared off our victim... er, I mean, patient," said Natan. Jonas turned off the projector and went into the other room to sulk.
Paul crept out from behind the chair. "What's this thing swatting made of?" he asked.
"Mentoes, of course!" proclaimed Natan. "Try a leg, or an armrest perhaps," he suggested.
"Perhaps," shrugged Paul.
"Perhaps!" added Jonas from the other room.
"So what seems to be your problem?" he asked, holding up the puppet. "The Artichoke knows all."
"Well, then you -- or HE -- should know the problem, shouldn't he?" Paul asked, getting annoyed.
"Let's forget such details," said Natan.
"Well, my problem... isn't MY problem... it's actually my wife-"
"Ah, I see, I see! Nudge, nudge, say no more... mon amour, lips are for kissin', baby-"
"No, that's not it!" Paul cut him off. "She's just acting... Bizarre."
"#@%$ her and see what happens!" proclaimed Natan. (or the puppet.)
"What?!" shouted Paul, "Look, this is utterly ludicrous!"
"Then spread ugly rumours about her behind her back!" exclaimed Natan.
"You're mad!" Paul told him, "I come here for advice, and all you do is-"
"Well then #@%$ her and see what happens!"
"I'm leaving!" shouted Paul, running out the door.
Natan shrugged. "Maybe I should think about turning this place back into the DAN Apparel Outlet Store, 'cause it really sucks to be DAN."

Paul ran. He ran for a very long time, until he could not even see the red Mentoes hovering in the air. He lent on a #@%$ to catch his breath.
"Sheep...lots of sheep!" he heard something say, but he paid no attention to it.
The sky swelled, and out of it popped a large white space ship, and out of that popped Jessie, that is, once the ship had landed once more at Paul's feet.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Jessie. "I've got news for you."
"Really?" asked Paul, breathless, and a little worried.
"I know what's wrong with Polly," she said. "But I'm not gonna tell you."
"What?!" exclaimed Paul. "TELL ME! I need to know!"
"No you don't," said Jessie smugly, "It's not important." She started to walk away.
"Paul ran over and grabbed onto her arm. "Tell me or I'll kiss you!" he threatened.
A look of horror engulfed her face. "POLLY'S PREGNANT!" she blurted out. Paul was silent, and he didn't move.
"Holy Zarquan!" he exclaimed, and let go of Jessie, who took a step back for distance and laughed.
"The baby's Zaphod's," she stated.
"Was there ever any doubt?" said Paul with a smug grin.
"But the computer made a mistake," said Jessie. "You're not Zaphod." She laughed.
"Now how am I supposed to believe that?" laughed Paul.
"You're not Zaphod."
"I'm not," he realized. "You're right." He thought for a minute. "Well then who zarking is?!"

Jessie laughed and ran back into the ship. The ship left.
"JESSIE?!" he shouted, "WHO IS?! WHERE IS THE LITTLE #@%$ER?!"
"Go home," said the voice that had spoken previously, and Paul took it's advice.

Then there was a Hippie-Kari, and she was there.

She searched nervously through an old refrigerator. "Belgium man, Belgium!" she muttered, "All out of Dr. Pepsite! Belgium!"
She slammed the door shut, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and lent against a wall, looking very nonchalant. She pulled out a box of orange Tic-Tacs and popped a few into her mouth.
"Belgium," she added. From behind her she heard the door slam shut and someone stomping in mumbling something. "Paul?" she called out.
He walked right past her, opened the refrigerator, and muttered something about a European country, just before slamming the door shut again.
"Where the zarking photon have you been?!" she asked.
"Why wouldn't you just tell me?" he asked, still mumbling.
" Do you know?" He nodded his reply. "I'm sorry, but what did you expect?" she asked, nonchalantly.
"Who the #@%$ is Zaphod?!" he asked.
"ZAPHOD?!" she asked, nearly choking on a Tic-Tac. "How did you find out about Zaphod?!"
"How does it matter?" he said, his voice lacking all hope. He let out a deep sigh. "Jessie told me I was Zaphod, then that you're... you know, and that it's his, but I'm not him."
"You? Zaphod?" she laughed, "No, but pretty close."
"Wuttaya mean?"
"I'M Zaphod... er, sorta," she replied coolly.
"WHAT?!"
"Due to an out of the ordinary cloning mistake, a portion of Zaphod's brain was transferred to mine, but there was a mix-up in the Space-Time Continuum when Jack stepped on a-"
"That's enough," he interrupted. "So you're not cheating on me, right?"
"Of course not," she answered. "But while you were gone I bought four-thousand boxes of orange Tic-Tacs."
"Why?"
"I'm becoming an addict," she said.
"Oh, good grief!"
"Well at least I'm not like my cousin Victoria. She bought a pair of red velvet underwear with rhinestones on the sides."
Paul gave her a silly look.
"Don't even think about it," she remarked.
"So, were really going to have another kid?" he asked, changing the subject only slightly.
"I hope," she said. "Otherwise there'd really be something wrong here." She laughed.
At that moment, ten hermit crabs jumped out from behind a stool and started performing their own choreographed version of 'Mars' by Gustav Holst. This silly song and dance routine might've continued for quite a while, but suddenly Jonas came in joining them, looking a lot like someone from 'Riverdance.' The hermit crabs became so depressed because they'd been outdone, and so they spontaneously combusted, bringing the odd interruption to an end. Jonas left to clean off the crab meat they'd left all over him.
"There IS something wrong here," Paul assured her.