This is my first parody, and I hope that you enjoy it. I only just wrote this bit a few moments ago and just wanted some quick feedback to know whether or not I should continue. Thanks!

Disclaimer: So, I don't own Oz, but I am working on buying the deed on Ebay.

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Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, well, in a different world anyway, a Munchkin was blearily waking to face the sun of a new day. As a Munchkin in the world that many of the people in our world refer to as 'Oz,' his life could be fairly dull. In fact, all he had to look forward to was becoming a farmer someday. Often, when working out in the cornfields, he would grow so bored that he would sing about traveling 'Under the Rainbow,' to visit some land of his imagination. It was a glorious land where things like, 'traffic lights,' 'bagels,' and 'plush bean bag animals,' existed. What these odd contraptions were or what their purpose was, he had no idea, but he spent a good deal of his time dreaming on them. In Munchkinland, he was an anomaly. He was looked down upo--Well, he wasn't really looked down upon, since he was six foot six in a land where topping four feet was celebrated with parties and lots of scantily clad women. Short women, but scantily clad all the same. Needless to say, he did not really resemble a Munchkin, but he was without a doubt one of them. Another thing that set him apart was his name. Countless people had struggled with the pronunciation and even more had muttered that his parents had obviously been smoking something when picking it out. A name so terrible, so awesomely great, that it had struck down more men than a rogue Rhino. (Or rhino. when they are rogue, there isn't really a difference.) Innumerable poets, newspaper columnists, and hobos had grappled with its difficulties, and I shudder as I think that I will have to type it for you within the next few lines to stop you from losing interest. His name was…well…it was…ok, it was…Bob. Bob Smith. Ha, I bet you were thinking that you would be able to pronounce it, weren't you? Well, I proved you wrong! No one has been able to pronounce it. Not even Bob himself. So, he just went by Butghuzie Sphinxy since it was much easier to spell and comprehend. Either way, his initials were still BS, which is possibly less of a coincidence than it seems. Anyway, on to Butghuzie, whom I will call Bob just to confuse you.

Bob had awoken to his mother, a Munchkin woman standing at three foot two kicking him viciously in the toe. He was rather too large for his bed, and his feet hung out. He was woken every morning by his mother kicking his endlessly bruised toe, since that was the highest part of him she could easily reach.

"Get up, Booeib!" his mother cried, stumbling over the name she had given him.

"I'm up, I'm up, Mommy!" Bob exclaimed, a rather juvenile expression for a man of thirty-five but then, that was Bob. Juvenile.

"Go help your father in the cornfield! He said something about using you as a lunchbox."

"Oh," Bob said. He was fairly used to being used as a lunchbox. He wasn't really good for much else in the cornfields. He was just going to have to accept it; farming wasn't his calling. However, he had always felt some inclination to musical theatre. He sighed and left the house wearing his uniform: a pair of long red Munchkin trousers that came just above his knee and a white Munchkin shirt that settled just above his midriff. He held the look together with gold-colored suspenders and usually went barefoot since the Munchkins had yet to develop shoes the size of one of their small boats. Over his back was slung a large bag full of his father's and his coworkers' lunches. In other words, ham sandwiches and beer. His father had dreamily spoken of having cup holders installed on Bob, but the estimates had been too high, and he had let the whole thing go.

The walk to the cornfields wasn't a long one, and Bob had arrived in no time.

"Hey, it's Byoh--It's your kid, Shecklep!" said one of the workers when they saw Bob coming.

"That would be him," sniffed Shecklep. His son was rather a touchy subject with him.

"He's hard to miss," another worker said, "He's taller than my wife's list of things I do that annoy her."

Shecklep grunted. "Get over here boy. Those lunches aren't going to serve themselves."

Bob meekly agreed and he handed out the sandwiches and beer. Once this was accomplished, Bob sat on the dirt, his day's work finished. He watched as his father and his father's friends 'picked corn.' Actually, a better description would be, 'read naughty magazines and made dirty jokes.'

Bob soon got bored and began to hum to himself. Before he knew it, he was full-out singing.

"Beer and ham sandwiches! Ham sandwiches and beer! Sandwiches and ham beer! Beer sandwiches and ham! Oh, I've got a lovely bunch of ham sandwiches-n-beer! De-dil-e-de. There they are all being di-gested! Some with mayonnaise, some on rye bread, and one with…EXTRA HAM!" he sang to a tune that varied as he went along.

"Stop killing that cat!" yelled one of the workers, turning to see what Bob could possibly be doing to the animal to make it make such noise.

Bob gave him a blank expression.

"Oh. I mean, stop using your voice as an instrument of terror."

"Ah," Bob said, "So you liked it then?"

"I, um, well, I, you must understand, that I--Oh look! Time to go home already. Bye fellows!" the man took off.

"My musical triumph must have been too much for him," Bob said quietly.

"Yes, he's right," Shecklep said.

Bob looked up hopefully.

"It is time to go home."

Bob looked back down.

With Shecklep leading the way, they made their way back to their small home. Technically, by Munchkin Standards, it was fairly large, but by Bob Standards, it wasn't. On the way, they passed over Munchkinland's biggest landmark: the beginning of the Yellow Brick Road. Although, in fact, it was rather overdone and much too expensive. Shecklep often grumbled that they had wasted time and effort by adding in that curlicue that made people feel slightly dizzy if they looked at it too long. Bob just thought it was rather pretty.

But what was this? He had never noticed that there was another road intertwined with the Yellow Brick Road. This other one was red and after curling around the Yellow, it seemed to go off in the opposite direction. Bob couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, but then again, in all fairness, he wasn't as close to the ground as most people living here.

"Father?" he asked.

"Hrumph?" his father gave as what he believed as a perfectly acceptable answer.

"Where does that red road go?"

"It leads to…HORRORS BEYOND IMAGINATION!" his father yelled.