The friends stood trembling before the great door of the Wizard’s audience chamber. Oz, the Great and Powerful, had promised to grant them their wishes once they had returned... but only if they brought with them the Wicked Witch’s broom.
Dorothy had slain the Witch, albeit inadvertently. She gripped the broom.
Alas, Oz turned out to be a fraud, a Nebraskan huckster borne to Oz in a rogue balloon.
Dorothy wailed. She’d never get home. Nor would the Scarecrow get brains, the Tin Man a heart, and the Lion courage. And the Bronze Man could forget about his fucking kidney.