A Munchkin’s History of the Land of Oz
Or (A Tale of Burnt Brownies)
It was a grueling day in Munchkinland, no different from any other. The Wicked Witch of the East was being her usual dastardly self, barking out orders and reaping the rewards of our slave labor. The schedule was unforgiving. We began every morning at sunrise and worked until twilight. L. Frank Baum chose to omit the inhumane truth of our society from his historically inaccurate children’s book. In reality, there is nothing cute about a chain gang of munchkins, performing backbreaking maintenance on the Yellow Brick Road.
At around nine-o-clock on this particular morning, I had just polished over one hundred of the bricks in my section, so I politely asked the Wicked Witch if I might take a short break to check on my brownies. You see, I had left them in the oven that morning and with no one to take them out for me, they would soon be burnt.
Upon hearing my request, the witch took one look at me and screamed, “Get back to work, shortie!”
This epithet really got under my skin. My whole life, I have been far shorter than the other munchkins. I dealt with years of taunting throughout grade school, and I remain highly sensitive about this issue. So unfortunately, I allowed my personal feelings to cloud my judgment, and I said something to the witch that I would immediately regret.
I called her a bitch.
She swung around and glared at me. “What did you just call me?!?!?”
“W-w-witch,” I stammered, trying to correct my mistake. “I said witch.”
The Wicked Witch began to turn red with rage. I tried to apologize, but it was of no use. In a matter of seconds, she was waving her wand, preparing to cast a deadly spell.
Then a big house fell on her.
What luck, I thought. There might be just enough time to pull my brownies out of the oven. Before I could leave however, the front door to the house opened and out walked a young girl who was about to change my life forever. She had gorgeous eyes and her hair was fastened in long braids. Oh those braids. I had never seen anything so majestic. Plus, she was tall! I have always had a thing for tall women. As an extra short munchkin though, my desires have remained largely unfulfilled. She also had some sort of hairy beast with her that she referred to as Toto. Oh well, I thought. I can learn to love that thing too if that is what it will take to be with her.
It had been years since my last relationship, which abruptly ended when my dear wife Agnes was brutally murdered by a sadistic tin man. The “man with no heart” proved this physical defect by wreaking havoc on the munchkin people for many years with his axe. After Agnes’s demise, I never thought I could know that kind of love again. Yet here she was.
I desperately tried to get the young girl’s attention. “Miss! Miss!”
She glanced in my direction and our eyes locked. For a second, we shared a moment. We were about to run into each other’s arms. I could feel it with all my heart. But before we were able to act on our primal urges, I was shoved aside by the Lollipop Guild.
They began to sing their theme, and the girl was instantly entranced. If only she knew the truth; the Lollipop Guild is a racist, anti-semitic, terrorist organization. I couldn’t stand to see another person brainwashed into their despicable cult. I was ready to speak out, but they had already given her the lollipop. The indoctrination had begun…or so I thought.
My internal panic distracted me from noticing that the girl had returned the lollipop to the Munchkinazis, but was now being ushered down the Yellow Brick Road by Glinda. Glinda, the so-called “good witch,” is one of these people who tries to help, but ultimately just screws everything up. Whenever I would ask girls out, they always sought Glinda for advice. She would tell them that they needed to follow their hearts and as a result, I would never hear from them again. Now, here she was, inadvertently ruining another chance I had to bring happiness back into my life.
As the girl started to leave, I jumped up and down, attempting to see over my fellow munchkins. “Stop! Wait!” I squeaked.
She was gone. Love had left me once again.
My brownies were burnt, too.
“Very interesting, Mr. Munchkin.” Dr. Bischofberger looked up from his notes. “And vat did you feel about zat?”
The small munchkin adjusted himself on the couch. He was highly uncomfortable sharing such intimate details about his personal life, but he knew that Freudian psychoanalysis was a critical component in his master plan to win back Dorothy. Moving to Kansas had only been the first step after all. So it was with cautious optimism that the munchkin took a sip of water, cleared his throat, and continued his heartbreaking tale of unrequited love.
Based on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum