The Witch's Brew: A Collection of Hilarious Short Stories Starring the Wicked Witch of the West

by Darrin Mason

  Captain James in Nothing but a T-Shirt Including No Pants returned to the Starship Enterprise to finish his bowl of Spocketti bolognaise that was topped with mozzarella cheese for extra taste. Snotty, on the other hand, had topped his bowl with a great big matzo ball. I have been assured the matzo had nothing on the mozzarella.

  The Wicked Witch of the West sold the chocolate factory and paid off all of Wally’s Bills. She also paid his Andrews and Stevens and Garys and Davids and the fact Wally was gay would now go to everybody’s grave. Everybody’s but mine, that is, because I just cannot keep a secret.

  When all was said and done, there was enough money left over for a holiday. Let’s just say she went too ... Chicago. She climbed off the plane in 1929 and was greeted with a hearty handshake by Al Capone who had bought the chocolate factory and now owned the Wicked Witch and that’s how it worked back then.

  At first glance, the Wicked Witch choosing Chicago as her destination seemed like a coincidence, didn’t it? So did being greeted by Al Capone. But there is no such thing as a coincidence and I sent her to Chicago for a very good reason, because if she hadn’t gone there, and to 1929 in particular, and if Al Capone hadn’t bought the chocolate factory then greeted her at the airport, there would be no The Wicked Witch of the West and the St Valentine’s Day Massacre coming up.

  Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen ... and goodnight.

  THE END

  -------------

  THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST

  AND THE ST VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Roses are red, violets are blue, munchkins are dead, and so are you.

  The Wicked Witch turned over the napkin. There was nothing written on it. She turned it back and read the words again. OUCH!!

  She looked around the plane. Who wrote them? Was it the guy in the third row? Perhaps it was the guy in the back row. She waved to the stewardess, hoping to get her attention. She got it. The stewardess waved back then blew her a kiss. The Wicked Witch leaped out of her seat, grabbed the kiss, and slam dunked it, giving Oz a one point lead with three seconds left in the deciding game.

  The opposition coach called a time out which gave his players a chance to chill out and himself a chance to cut out the cigarettes which were sure nails in an early coffin. Of course the cigarette companies would have you believe otherwise, that smoking is cool and won’t blacken your lungs with tar, but so too would the bullies have the kids of the world believe there is no Santa Claus when we all know he’s real. After all, if he wasn’t real, who the hell’s been driving the sleigh?

  The Wicked Witch used the time out to visit the little ladies room which was right next door to the big ladies room used by the other players on the team. Waiting for her was a munchkin, one hell bent on revenge and it fired the gun it was pointing at the Witch. The bullet closed in on her. She braced herself for the pain and agony she would surely feel as the bullet pierced her skin and tore her vital organs to shreds, the most vital of which was the Roland organ played by old Mrs Richards at the start of each quarter. What made it so vital was its monetary value (it was autographed by Sir Elton on the John and was worth several tens of thousands of dollars to the team), and the simple fact a game of basketball seems unable to restart without that little do-do-do-do at the start of each quarter.

  The Wicked Witch opened her eyes just as the bullet was about to cut a hole in her chest. She looked down at the napkin. Now, there was nothing written on either side. She looked around the plane. Nothing and no one seemed the slightest bit odd. Not even the guy in the seat next to her who was carrying a bomb. The Wicked Witch looked at me. “Did you say a bomb?” Yes, I did.

  Wendy leaped from her seat. She ran screaming to the cockpit and opened the door. It was full of cocks. She thought for a moment then turned and closed the door. She saw a nun sitting in the front row and went to her. “Pray with me,” the nun said.

  The Wicked Witch kneeled in front of the pulpit (you know, the place where people pull each other?) and prayed to God. “You fucked me up in book five, God. You left me in the hands of a bunch of star trekkers that were going where no man had ever gone before. What the fuck was that all about?”

  God replied. “I got you out of trouble, didn’t I? I got you away from the police that wanted to arrest you, didn’t I?”

  “And you landed me knee deep in shit with a gun-wielding munchkin,” Wendy said. “Now I’m having nightmares about the damn things.”

  God sat down in front of her. “Have you ever heard of karma, Wendy?”

  She thought for a moment. “Isn’t that a car made by that Korean company, Kia?” The Kia Karma. Hmmm. And please, ladies and gentlemen, don’t rush to your pens and papers and emails to contact them. I already have. Duh!!

  God smiled. “No, it goes like this. Karma Karma Karma Karma Karma Chameleon. You come and go. You come and go.”

  Wendy jumped to her feet. “Loving would be easy if your colors were like my skin. Three shades of green. Three shades of green.”

  Lou Ferigno Friggin Way Can Any One Possibly Be That Big leaped into the spotlight and began to sing. “When green is all there is to be, It could make you wonder why, but why wonder why, Wonder, I am green and it’ll do fine, it’s beautiful, And I think it’s what I want to be.” There is an old saying that you should be careful what you wish for. Lou should’ve been careful what he wished for.

  Wendy and God watched as Lou began to change shape, and skin color. He roared and ripped at his clothes as the changes took hold of who he was and threw that man out the window, shattering the sheet of glass into a thousand tiny and sharp pieces. A monster with green skin that was fuelled by anger and pain and a deep seeded hatred of the world took his place. The monster grabbed God and tossed him through the air. God landed on Mary and they had sex. After several minutes of thrusting his manhood into her vagina, God came and nine months later Jesus was born. Anyone thinking God can possibly be Jesus’s father any other way (and that Mary was a virgin when she gave birth) obviously never heard about the birds and bees (and if she was a virgin, what then of poor old Joseph whose marriage to Mary would then prove to never have been consummated? Would he have occasionally strayed from the flock to fluck someone on the side? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you can see why so many people believe that religion, organized religion, truly is flucked). And if anyone would like to know what happened after Jesus was born, you can read a copy of Jesus Christ: Shooting Star (written by me) and find out for yourself.

  The monster turned to the Wicked Witch and looked her up and down. It smiled at the thought it may have found a kindred spirit. It reached over and touched its hand to her cheek. A fire took hold between her legs and she ripped off what was left of the monster’s clothes. It entered her and soon it came. She became pregnant and a short while later gave birth to a tadpole that grew up to be a frog. And that, my friends, is where Kermit came from (in case you didn’t know). By the way, did you ever wonder if the puppeteer washed his hand after having it up a frog’s butt? Ewwww.

  A voice came over the loudspeaker, asking people to take their seats because the plane was approaching Chicago and would soon begin its descent.

  Wendy and the monster sat in their seats and buckled up. The NO SMOKING light came on which meant Paul That Ain’t No longer Able to Walker Coz He’s Dead had to leave the plane. After all, rules are rules and they are meant to be followed. And maybe, just maybe, his death in a car wreck and a blaze of not-much-glory will be a warning to those nutjobs that continually break those same rules. Or maybe it won’t. Who knows?

  The plane touched down and the stewardess was felt up by Rowdy Roddy Pumped Her who had been sitting in the front row. She screamed and Hulkstereo 104.3 came to her rescue. He smashed Rowdy Roddy’s head against the turnbuckle and drew blood. It splashed onto the face of the man sitting in the second row who once drew a still life of Marilyn Mun Row Row Row Your Boat Gently to the White House, Merrily Taking the President’
s Cock, Deep into her Mouth and sold it for a small fortune teller that later robbed a bank and went on the run. Police put out an APB to other law enforcement agencies, calling for them to keep an eye out for a small medium at large. BWAHAHA!! (No, it’s not my punch line, but the build-up is, and besides, sometimes things are just way too funny not to include in what you’ve written, even if you didn’t write it).

  The plane came to a halt at Gate 51 while on the other side of the country a UFO was coming to a halt in Area 51. Members of the military soon surrounded the craft. They were well armed, and ready and willing to fire their weapons at whatever might poke out its head. The door opened and out walked a little brown furry thing and a little skinny thing with big googly eyes. They had been drinking alcohol and now they were singing a happy little space shanty. “What shall we do with the drunken pilot?” they asked in the key of D minor. The military fired their weapons and down went the aliens. Near death, they looked at each other.

  “ALF,” ET said, “it’s an honor (deep breath) to die, by your side.”

  ALF looked at ET for a moment before replying, “Fuck you, you little piece of shit. I told you we should’ve taken a left at Saturn. Now we’re fucked.”

  The world’s most famous aliens closed their eyes and died. The men that shot them picked up their bodies and carried them to a nearby building where they would be dissected and have scientific tests carried out on them. Meanwhile, back on the other side of the country, the Wicked Witch and the monster left the plane and were met by one of the world’s most famous gangsters, Al Capone. I had a great joke to tell right here that is lost because Capone was only two inches short of six feet. However, had the Wicked Witch been met by, let’s say, a dwarf that was also only four feet tall, I would’ve said the one thing the Wicked Witch and the dwarf saw eye to eye on was their feet. Dammit.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The weather report said the Windy City was windy that day, my friends, and smelly, too. Both were the result of the population of Chicago eating way too many baked beans. Will they ever learn?

  Al led Wendy and the monster out to a cab. Wendy got a whiff of the not-so-fresh-air and almost passed out. The monster, on the other hand, not only passed out, it passed wind, which added to the smell. Holy hell. What a smell.

  As Al saw to Wendy and the monster, three little pigs climbed into the cab and told the driver to go. Before the driver could go, a wolf tapped on the window and two of the little pigs went, right in their pants.

  “Let me in, let me in,” the wolf cried out.

  The third little pig turned and gave the wolf the bird. “Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.”

  Al wondered what the hell the Chinese had to do with anything, but soon shrugged his shoulders and went back to Wendy and the monster because in the end he really didn’t give a shit. He only cared about sticking it to the authorities in support of those he thought to be downtrodden. So good was he at it that many thought of him as a modern day Robin Hood. You know, the guy that stole from the rich and gave to the porcupines? That reminds me, did you hear the story about a guy called Matt that had a sex change and called himself Mary? He/she hooked up with Robin and together they became known as Robin Hood and his Mary that used to be a man. BWAHAHA!!

  As Al helped a very dazed monster to its feet, a black car drove slowly by and a man stuck his bare butt out one of the windows. He pushed hard and a great big glob of brown goo came out of his butt and landed on the ground. He fell back in the car laughing and the car drove away. And that, my friends, was the first ever drive-by shitting.

  Al, the monster, and Wendy climbed into the back seat of the next cab off the rank which was driven by my good friend Jesus. That’s the Son of God to the rest of you. But is he really the Son of God? Can he be? If so, how can he be unless what I wrote in Chapter One is true, that God and Mary had sex? And if he knew he would have to wait more than two thousand years for his second coming (let alone two days or even two weeks which is hard enough for any man), would he really have wanted the job of being the Son of God? That’s the real reason I’d like to meet Jesus. Just to ask him that. And I wonder even more if his girlfriend of two millennia would have hung around if she knew she would have to wait that long for her man to come again. Not many would.

  Jesus started the meter and drove away from the airport. He looked in the rear vision mirror and was shocked to see just how big his rear was. It must’ve been that damn last supper, he thought. I would imagine two thousand years of sitting on the right hand of God didn’t help. Sitting on the right hand? Shoot. I meant at the right hand. I really did, you know.

  Al turned to Wendy and said, “Since I bought the chocolate factory in the fifth story, something has happened. Chicago has been overrun by Bumpa-Lumpas. Little bustards had nowhere to go and nothing to do since losing their jobs at the factory so they came here. Now they’re stepping on my toes, trying to get my alcohol business. Wendy, something has to be done.”

  The monster chipped in with, “Over or under?”

  Wendy and Al looked at each other then at the monster.

  “What the fuck?” Wendy asked.

  The monster looked at her. “Do you want it overdone or underdone?”

  Wendy shook her head, wondering just how someone can be so dopey as to get it so wrong.

  Dopey turned to Wendy and said, “Practice makes perfect.” He left with the other dwarfs and went back to work in the mines where they struck gold, left Snow White for a much younger woman who married them only for their money and who left them for a much younger man - and took their money with her - then one day died violent and bloody deaths. The much younger man eventually ripped off the much younger woman and left her homeless and broke. She turned to drugs and spent much of her time high. I guess you could say she was a, high hoe, high hoe, with nowhere else to go, but down.

  It began to snow, and as the snow flies on a cold and gray Chicago morn, Jesus drove the cab over the poor little child that had just been born, in the ghetto. He looked out the window at the baby’s mama that was sighing with relief, cause if there’s one thing that she didn’t need was another hungry mouth to feed, in the ghetto.

  Jesus drove away, much to the Wicked Witch’s wonder. “Jesus,” she said, “don’t you understand, the poor little child needs a helping hand?”

  Jesus looked at her. “There ain’t nothing I can do for him. He’s dead. And look at the bright side. At least now he won’t grow to be an angry young man.”

  The monster and Al looked at each other out the corner of their eyes before turning their heads and looking the other way.

  Then one night in desperation, a Bumpa-Lumpa jumped out in front of the cab which came to a screeching halt. The Bumpa-Lumpa, having bought a gun, tried to steal the car, but Jesus floored it and ran the Bumpa-Lumpa down and his mama cried.

  A crowd gathered round an angry Bumpa-Lumpa laying face down on the street with a gun in his hand, in the ghetto.

  As her young Bumpa-Lumpa died on a cold and gray Chicago morn, another little Bumpa-Lumpa is born, in the ghetto. And his hunger burns. So, too, does wood.

  Pinocchio ran from the fire as fast as his little legs would carry him, but the fire was fast and it caught up to Pinocchio and bit him on the bum. He dropped to the ground and rolled this way and that, hoping to put out the fire. Sirens wailed in the distance. Moments later, a fire truck flew around the corner and pulled over next to Pinocchio. Fireman Sam jumped off the back of the truck holding a hose and squirted water at the flames on Pinocchio’s butt. If he had arrived a moment sooner and if the water had hit the flames just a moment earlier, the great gas explosion of 1929 would never have happened. It blew Pinocchio sky high, and with every yard he flew he wished to God he’d had eggs instead of baked beans on toast for breakfast that morning. Fireman Sam didn’t escape unharmed either. In fact, he was so badly injured that his TV show was put on hold until further notice. To fill the void, the BBC created a character called Bob the Builder. O
ne of the jockeys from the following Saturday’s race 8 approached him. Could he fix it? Bob thought for a moment then replied, “Leave it with me.” He approached several of the other jockeys, hoping to sound them out. What he didn’t know was the jockey that approached him was an undercover police officer. So were several of the other jockeys and the whole thing was a police sting. The end result was that Bob is now serving time in jail for trying to fix it.

  Jesus turned a corner and in the distance there was a group of Bumpa-Lumpas standing shoulder to shoulder with the Seven Dwarfs. All of them were well-armed and ready to rumble. The Wicked Witch turned to Al who was looking straight ahead. This was his town and no one, especially not a group of midgets, was going to take it from him. With a glint in his eye, he said, “Let’s show these guys who the real baddies are.”

  Jesus pulled over and they all got out. Al opened the trunk and pulled out several rifles. He handed one each to Jesus, the monster, and Wendy. He kept one for himself and together they marched toward the Bumpa-Lumpas and the Seven Dwarfs.

  Jesus fired first, hitting a Bumpa-Lumpa in the heart, killing him instantly. The monster fired its gun, hitting Happy in the head. Now Happy’s dead. Poor Happy.

  The remaining Bumpa-Lumpas turned and ran. Wendy picked them off one by one. Jesus cornered one of the Seven Dwarfs, grabbed him, and threw him in the air. The dwarf landed heavily on the ground. A man ran over and measured the distance between Jesus and the dwarf. Thirteen feet. Jesus punched the air triumphantly for thirteen feet was enough to win that year’s World Dwarf Throwing Championship. First prize was an all-expenses paid trip to New York which included the use of a 1926 Dodge Sedan. They gave him the keys to the car and told him, “New York. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.”

  Jesus climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and spluttered then fell out of the car and onto the ground. Smoke poured out from under the hood. He climbed out of the car and looked at the front end. New York. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. “I’ll never make it there, because this thing is a pile of fucking junk.” He kicked the wheel as hard as he could and broke his toe. That’s what happens when you kick a car tyre while wearing only sandals. You break your toe. Silly Jesus.