We waited until dark to bubble back, Oz traveling with us, along with a carpet bag full of God knows what.
When the bubble landed in our backyard, I saw the snap of blinds on the house next door. The hausfrau had been waiting for us. She must have been burning up the phone lines, because less than ten minutes later, a rock was thrown through our living room window, scattering shards of glass everywhere.
"Come on out, White Mamma," read the message tied to it. Oh, boy, it was the Malcolms again. "Get out here and apologize for what you been doin', or prepare to have your ass blown off."
Glinda turned red and swelled up like a toad when she read it. Oz started looking nervously toward the back door, but he couldn't move half as fast as Glinda when she was pissed off. She grabbed him with one hand and me with the other, and dragged us outside with her to confront the angry mob. Oz barely had a chance to grab his bag as he passed.
On the porch, Glinda squinted in the light from the torches. There must have been a hundred Munchkins out there, all armed with something or other—from pitchforks to machetes.
"Get the hell of my property," she screamed, veins popping out on her neck. Her hair magically freed itself from the neat waves she had had it done in while in the Emerald City, and now frizzed wildly around her head, strands whipping back and forth like snakes. Her face flickered with strange light, throwing the angles into sharp relief that made her look like one of the undead. And she grew in size until she nearly bumped her head on the overhang above the porch.
Oz, somewhat emboldened by the sight she made, stepped up to her side and opened his carpet bag.
"What you got in there, old man? Another plastic heart?" It was a scornful voice from the mob, and people began snickering.
"More like a plastic Ozzie semi-automatic," he shouted back, and held it aloft. There was some worried muttering and our audience took a collective step back. Everybody knew how dangerous an Ozzie was—if the bullets didn't get you, the incessant bitching of the Sharon silencer would.
The Malcolms were manning up for battle, when there was a shrill neigh from the edge of the crowd. I shielded my eyes against the flaming torches, and then waved and called out excitedly. "Ozman! You made it!"
Glinda looked at me in disbelief. "You knew that freak was coming and you didn't tell me?"
I shrugged. "Three on a match, Glinda. I want to survive this in one piece."
Ozman had dismounted from her dark horse, which was currently a strong, manly navy. As per usual when Ozma was in her Ozman mode, she had completely lost her sense of fashion, and was wearing a ten-gallon hat, plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. I understand the whole transgender thing, I really do. But why does switching off cause her to wear such really horrible outfits? Emboldened by Ozman's arrival, someone in the mob through a rock at the porch, narrowly missing Glinda's head. All of a sudden, a sense of style or lack thereof, didn't seem to matter so much. I jumped to the lawn and scrambled to get to Ozman's side.
"Hey, Ozman, thanks for coming. If you want, when this is all over, we could have a spa day. And go shopping. My treat!"
Ozman nodded absently. She might not appreciate my offer now, but once the Ozma side kicked back in, I knew she'd be delighted.
Glinda drew back the hand with the wand in it, and Oz raised his gun. I winced and tried to make myself smaller. Unfortunately, when the entire rest of the crowd is under three feet, I really stand out.
Glinda's wand sizzled, and someone in the front row turned into a sloth. A flaming arrow, a product of the Gay Archer's Guild, landed on the porch by her feet. She raised her arm for another shot, and Oz pulled the Ozzie to his face and took aim.
"Stop!" thundered Ozman at my side. "As your queen and your . . . queen, I order you to stop this right now!"
"What the hell are you gonna do with that bitch, if we stop? We can't live like this anymore. We want some guarantees." That had to be one of the Malcolms.
Ozman stepped forward until she reached the porch, and then turned to face the crowd, a grin in her face. "I have a solution that's way better than some stupid guarantee."
"What's that?" said one of the Lolly Pop Guild members suspiciously.
"What is it?" said Glinda and Oz at the same time, distrust in their voices.
"Before Oz left the palace, I went through his bag. And I found this!"
"What the hell is that?" someone shouted.
"Oh, shit," muttered Oz, looking for a way off the porch.
'It's a device our Wonderful Wizard picked up at the Technology Exhibit of the Chicago World's Fair of 1893. A Shrink Ray."
The audience got quiet as they tried to figure out what exactly that meant. Oz's shoulders slumped. Glinda grinned. "You're gonna make these squirts even tinier than they are now?"
Ozman turned and looked at Glinda and Oz on the porch, and smiled nastily. "No, I'm going to provide you with a little off-the- cuff sensitivity training."
Before either of them could say anything else, Ozman squeezed the trigger of the shrink ray. An eerie blue light shot out, enveloping both Glinda and Oz in its strange glow. There was a blinding flash, and then the blue light disappeared. We all looked at the figures on the porch. Glinda and Oz, but different—they were both less than three feet tall.
"Oh, my God," screamed Glinda. Her voice was about two octaves higher, which was a total improvement. "What have you done, you wicked bitch?"
There was scattered giggling from the yard, and then some outright guffaws. Pretty soon, the whole place was rocking with hysterically laughing Munchkins. Ozman was laughing too, but managed to get it under control enough to call out to the crowd. 'Now, who's going to volunteer to help Glinda and Oz get a better understanding of what it means to be a Munchkin?"
A hand here or there went up, but the pickins looked pretty slim. Ozman frowned. "And every person that volunteers gets a free date with her." She pointed directly at me. I blushed and tried to look cute. Every hand went up—even the mayor's. At least, his hand was up until the wifey saw him and socked him in the gut. I batted my lashes, and tried to figure out how I could make some money on this deal.
"What are we supposed to do?" Oz was whining. "I don't know how to live like a Munchkin."
I smiled, and called from my position in the back of the crowd, "Look for the silver lining. Now you guys can form your own Munchkin gang—how about the League of Duplicitious Dictators?"
The crowd cheered. Oh, yeah. I could definitely make some money off of this.
"Queer and Loathing on the Yellow Brick Road" was first published in Polluto Magazine, then was reworked into a novel, forthcoming from Dog Horn Publishing. Deb Hoag's previous books are Crashin' the Real: One woman's search for truth, justice... and Steven Tyler (Dog Horn Publishing, 2009) and Dr. Gonzo (Unlikely Books, 2010).