So one day you are out chasing a white rabbit, and the next thing you know you’re falling down a hole. It’s a long, long way to the bottom, and you hit bottom pretty hard. When you come back to your senses there is a man with strange hair shaking you awake, telling you that you don’t have to worry about the size of his penis. No sir, zero complaints on that score, none at all, take my word for it.

And you think, why not give him the benefit of the doubt? So you agree to take his word for it, he is a very well-penised man.

This may be confusing, but the man who wants to talk about his penis talks with his hands. They are soft, pudgy hands that look like it is somebody’s job to wash them. One hand, actually, does the talking, mostly the same gesture, a little circle between his index finger and his thumb that indicates a thinking process is underway. That or it is holding a pool cue. Most likely, he is about to call his opponent disgusting, or very nasty, or very, very nasty. Or not nice. This is the man who will match wits for us with the world. But giving him his due, now and then something drops out in between the nasties and the not nices that is as nauseating as phlegm. For instance, we will give you four months to make up something more repugnant than a draft dodger insulting the war record of John McCain, and you won’t come close.

But back to Wonderland. The truth is, this may not be part of the original story, but the man who would make us great again claims to play golf to a very low handicap and pay all his taxes. He won’t release his tax forms, but only because his lawyers tell him not to. It is one of the great disappointments of the election that just when it looks like a great dust-up on the horizon, the bully of the playground runs away because he promised his mother he wouldn’t fight.

There is a table in Wonderland and on the table is a piece of cake. Near the cake is a note that says EAT ME. The candidate has never claimed to be the most sophisticated reader in the world—check that, he may in fact have claimed to be the most sophisticated reader in the world—but either way he does not understand the spirit in which the message “EAT ME” is written. He thinks it is about cake. And does not have to be offered free cake twice.

Interestingly enough, on the matter of reading comprehension, the man who wants to talk about his penis says his two favorite titles are The Holy Bible, which you suspect he likes for being politically incorrect, all those olden-days guys with speech defects, always putting “th” on the ends of the words, and his own best-seller, The Art of the Deal. Admittedly, suspicions abound that the candidate himself has not read either of his favorite books, but in fairness, it is also suspected that nobody at all ever read his opponent’s book, which is called It Takes a Village and may well be the most unread book in history. A million copies published and nobody got past page 12.

You may wonder how the man who wants to tell you about his penis could write a book without reading it, but back up top in the other world it happens all the time.

So the man eats the cake and begins to grow. And grow, and Grow, and GROW. He grows until the chair he is sitting in breaks and he bumps his head on the ceiling and has to bend over to fit all of himself into the room. Unfortunately, the man is very sensitive about physical appearance, and he is so big now that he can’t really see anything but his own behind, which is hanging out of his ripped trousers.

“Look at that flab,” he says, not realizing whose behind he is seeing. "What a disaster." He looks around for someone to divorce or fire.

Instead he spots a teacup, which also comes with a note. Two notes, in fact. One indicating the candidate cheats at golf, and this time the insult hits the mark, part of the savage media attack on his character, and he vows to assemble another team of lawyers and sue the pants off the New York Times.

And he says, “I don’t ever cheat, and if I do, you ought to see Clinton.” Referring this time not to Hillary Clinton, his opponent in the presidential race, but her Bill. The opponent has been somewhat ignored in this account, but there is hardly room for the man himself. Suffice it for now to say that she has written the most boring book in history and that on her best day she is evil incarnate. Her Bill, who was elected President of America twice, and was very likely the worst cheater in the history of Presidential golf, all the way back to Eisenhower. Ike, by the way, never cheated at golf.

And if he had, Mamie would never have lied to cover it up.

The other note with the tea cup, says: DRINK ME.

And he does, and begins to shrink. Especially his soft, pudgy hands. When his shrinkage is pointed out he takes offense. “That’s a very nasty thing to say,” he says, “very, very not nice, completely untrue, and it’s because the water in the shower is like ice.”

Still, he goes right on shrinking until a much younger woman, mistaking him for a Q-tip, uses him to clean out her ear, and he brags about the ear-wax assault, and then has to deny, deny, deny. “I never said I cleaned out her ear against her will,” he says later, “and if I did say it, it was only locker room talk.” It’s what 70-year-old men do in the old locker room, if you didn’t know, snap towels and talk about chicks.

Which is about all the Queen can stand. She says, “Off with her head!”

The man says he will see her in jail.

Not to shortchange the movie, there is a caterpillar around here somewhere that’s really Sammy Davis Jr., and a Tweedle-Dee and a Tweedle-Dum, who we guess are members of the Grand Old Party who have thrown in with the man to make us great again and maybe, if the man wins, they will be the new Secretary of State and a new Supreme Court Justice, on that eventual morning when there are only eight “Yo”s when they take the roll. There is also a Cheshire cat and a tea party and a lovable door mouse, but what they are doing in the middle of this bad dream we do not remember.

The point though is the same. The Queen says “Off with his head!”—possibly on the chance that he will quit talking. And the talking head says it will put the Queen in jail. Can’t we just give everybody what they want?