Sunday, January 13, 2019

"We're Off to See the Wizard..."

"Cashman may seem like a wizard and, in reality, he definitely is."
                                                     —Allison Case, Elite Sports NY

The five weary friends dragged themselves back to the Emerald City, and into the Grand Palace of the Wizard.  There they stood once more before the great, glowering visage, glaring out between its dyed hair and turtleneck sweater.  Smoke billowed out around it, as the terrible head spoke.

"So, my witch people down in Tampa told me that you finished off the Wicked Witch of the North!  How resourceful of you!" it boomed.

"What? No, look at us!"  spoke up Dorothy Warbler of Kansas.  "They beat the crap out of us!  Those Flying Monkeys are tough!  And don't get me started about those Gammonites with all the—what the hell were they?"

"Halberds," Giancarlo the Straw Man said miserably.  "F----ing halberds!"

The Straw Man was missing a straw-stuffed arm.  Icks the Tin Man was badly dented, all over his oil can chest.  Sonny the Cowardly Lion seemed unscathed, but he could not stop sniffling.  Even their cute little dog, Boonie, was missing some big patches of fur.

"Well, you know what they say," the Great Head bellowed.  "If at first you don't succeed—"

"Eat my t--t, you dick!  You promised you'd help us!  We need more men!" little Dorothy raged.

"How DARE you speak to the Mighty Wizard of Oz like that!" boomed the Head.

But just then little Boonie, yapping furiously, darted over and pulled back the curtain surrounding the Great Head.  They could all see there was nothing there, just a short, balding man with a bad moustache, dressed like an elf, standing behind a microphone.

"Pay no attention to that little man behind the curtain!" commanded the Head.  But it was too late.  They could see the little man saying the words.

They advanced on him as one, the Tin Man tapping the handle of his axe in the palm of his hand.

"Who the f--k are you?" Dorothy Warbler demanded.

The little man looked like he was about to flee, glanced down at Boonie now holding his pants cuff between his teeth, and sighed.

"I am—" he turned back to the mictrophone, "—the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz.  At your service.  Cooperstown Cashman."

He tried to hand Sonny a card, which only made the Cowardly Lion jump back.

"Why, you're no f---ing wizard at all!" Dorothy exclaimed.

"Do you talk like that in Kansas, young lady?  Well, uh, no, no I'm not.  I was just a little elf, happily climbing up and down buildings throughout the greater Tri-State area, when one day a big wind came along and blew me high up into the clouds!  I was hoping I might touch down in Cooperstown.  But instead it took me here—to the wonderful land of Oz."

"So you were lying to us the whole time!  You never had f---ing ability to f---ing help us!" Dorothy accused him.  Boone growled ominously.

"Now, now, wait a minute!  That's just not so!" pleaded Coops.  "I have thought long and hard about all you wanted, and I have just what you need!"

"A brain!" exclaimed Giancarlo the Straw Man.

"A heart!" squeaked Icks the Tin Man.

"Courage!" mewled Sonny the Cowardly Lion.

"A way back home to the championship!" shouted Dorothy Warbler.

"No, no, much better than that!" Coops the Elf told them.

Before they could stop him, he had ducked behind another curtain and pulled out a strange, immobile figure made of many different scraps of things—metal and marble and pieces of old tires—that looked as though it had been broken a lot, and pieced back together.

"Behold!  Troy the Stationary Man!  HE will help you defeat the Wicked Witch of the North!"

"You mean we gotta go back up there?" sniffed Sonny the Cowardly Lion, wiping his eyes with his tail.

"What the hell does he do?" asked Dorothy.

But the adorable little elf had already disappeared behind the curtain again.

"Fear not, my good friends!" he spouted, reappearing with another odd contraption that none of them could make heads or tails of.

"What is it?" asked the Straw Man.

"Why, it's a LeMa— a LeMa— a Doer of Good Deeds!" Coops proclaimed, setting it down next to Troy the Stationary Man.

Their bemusement was interrupted at that moment by a terrible cackling sound.  Gazing up through the skylight, at the very peak of the enormous tower above them, they could see all sorts of witches circling on their broomsticks, and landing at the penthouse terrace.

"What the m-----f---ing shit is THAT about?" Dorothy inquired sweetly.

"Oh, that's Hal's place.  He has these little confabs all the time—" the elf said nervously.

"Hal?  Who's that?"

"Why, you might say he's the real wizard around here.  Or at least, he's the one in charge."

"What? Well, let's go f---ing see him!" suggested Dorothy.

"Um, I don't think so.  He doesn't see many people."

"What's he doing with all those witches?  They're supposed to be his mortal enemies.  What's going on here, anyway?" asked Icks the Tin Man.

"Oh, well.  There are enemies, and then there are enemies.  Here, see what else I have for you!" the excitable little elf said, and scampered behind the curtain again.  He trundled out a box on a wheelbarrow, holding all sorts of broken junk that he held up before them as if it were purest gold.

"Look, here's a Bridwell!  And here's a Hutchison, a Lipka, a Billyburns!  Ooh, you can't go wrong with that one!" the elf said hurriedly.

But Dorothy Warbler was already checking out the shipping label on the box.

"Island of Misfit Toys," she read.  "Why, these aren't even from the f---ing right fairy tale!"

The elf sighed.

"Look, whattaya want?  Building an army capable of taking on the Wicked Witch of the North takes a lot of money.  And Hal has expenses."

"What?"

"Sure.  You think emeralds grow on trees?  You know what a single yellow brick costs for that damned road?  He's already got the Munchkins subsisting on Vermin Turd Dogs.  Then there's the cost of his personal masseuse, the catering for the witches' concave—"

Coops stopped, noticing how the five of them were closing in on him again.  All of a sudden, there was a terrible creaking noise.  Everyone turned to look.  Troy the Stationary Man was moving!  He turned slowly, slowly, lifting up his huge steel arms—then collapsed in a pile on the floor.

"That does it," said Dorothy.  "C'mon, boy!  I say we beat the f---ing s--- out of this—"

Just then Boonie sunk his fangs deep into Coops' shin.  He let out a high-pitched scream.

"AARGH!"

The unfortunate elf was beaten to a pulp.  Even Sonny the Cowardly Lion got a few good shots in.  It might have been even worse, but Icks the Tin Man took several wild swings with his axe and only managed to hit himself in the foot.  Then they headed for the door.

"Wait, what about your stuff—" Coops gurgled after them.

"F--k you, you f---ing ------------------------------" the Warbler call back.

As they walked out, they noticed how many of the businesses they had patronized in the city just a few days before were now shuttered and closed.

The joint where they dyed your eyes to match your dress was boarded up.  So was the garden spot that was never too hot and never too cold, and the carriage service that had carried them through the streets before was finished, the half-starved nags being led off to the knacker's yard.

"You know, the Emerald City ain't what she used to be," said the Straw Man.

"No shit, Sherlock," Dorothy told him.

"Look, I asked you not to call me that—"

"What do we do now?" asked Sonny the Cowardly Lion, his voice close to breaking.  "Oh what we will ever do now???"

Dorothy gave him a bracing slap, and kept walking.

"I dunno about you bozos, but I'm gonna gather up the Munchkins and go all Pol Pot on this Hal's ass.  First we take the countryside, then we cut off the city.  I bet we can get some of those Flying Monkeys to come in with us.  Get us some of those—what were they again?"

"Halberds."

"Yeah, good name," said Dorothy, changing into her camos and bandoliers as she walked, and lighting a cigar.  "We're gonna get us some f---ing halberds and stick Hal's head on one."

She glanced back at the highest tower of Oz, surrounded by its cackling witches.

"There's a storm coming in."



























11 comments:

13bit said...

Going to be a long summer, Hoss...

Anonymous said...

2 B continued, M----rF---ers... Nice re-working, Hoss - - we want MOOOORE LB (No J)

KD said...

as much as I hate Hal, I am starting to hate his father more, even in death. I mean, who stuck us with this piece of shit Hal?

Hey Hal! Fuck soccer, er… I mean, "Football". may your dreams fall to dust. Long live baseball!!!

KD said...

BTW, Hoss. That was brilliant! you are so great at painting pictures with words. Thank you!

13bit said...

Hi Folks,

I guess I should introduce myself. It's me, yours truly the @RealHalSteinbrenner.

I just want to let you all know that I hear you. I feel your pain. There will be no new luxury taxes and we will make the Yankees great again.

We're going to win so much that you're going to get tired of winning. I promise you.

I don't care if you all mention body parts and excrement on this blog. My dad used to talk about that stuff all the time when he took his sleeping pills.

Okay, I just want to let you all know that your voices have been heard.

I have to get back to Brian. He's kind of tied up right now on my chaise lounge.

See you at the stadium. I hope you all upgrade your seats this year.

Love,

@RealHalSteinbrenner

HoraceClarke66 said...

Thanks, guys—and 13bit, that's a terrific idea! You really ought to make this an ongoing appearance by "realHalSteinbrenner"!

TheWinWarblist said...

I love you, Hoss. And you too @RealHalSteinbrenner, you cocksucking miser.

HoraceClarke66 said...

Thanks, Warbler. You made a great model for my kick-ass Dorothy.

13bit said...

Dear Horace,

I, @RealHalSteinbrenner, am one step ahead of you, although I'm sure you already knew that.

Best regards to your family. Please help yourself to some extra paper napkins the next time you use my commissary.

I really appreciate your business.

Best,

@RealHalSteinbrenner

HoraceClarke66 said...

Genius!

This is the best sports satire I've read since the Voice's old, "Dick Young In Hell" series.

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