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

the folds of his robes. “I hear you want to off a referee and some munchkins.”
    The Wicked Witch and Stephen looked at each other. They shrugged and turned back to Jesus.
    “Maybe,” the Wicked Witch said. “What’s it to you?”
    Jesus pulled a cartridge filled with bullets out from behind his back and loaded it into the rifle. “It says in the Bible that Judas hung himself. Nuh-uh.” Jesus aimed the rifle at the Wicked Witch. “I shot the betraying son-of-a-bitch right between the eyes.”
    The Wicke d Witch was horrified. “But … I believed in you. You were my hero.”
    “You don’t need no stinking hero,” Jesus said. “What you need is a gun. And not that popgun piece of candy shit the jailer was using.” He held out the rifle to her. “Here. Take it.”
    The Wicked Witch looked at Stephen. “What do you think?”
    “I think he’s right,” Stephen replied. “I think Judas was a betraying son-of-a-bitch.”
    The Wicked Witch frowned. “I meant about the gun. Should I take it?”
    Stephen reached out and took the rifle. He looked at it this way and that. Upside down, right way up. He looked down the barrel of the gun. It was dark down there. He turned to the Wicked Witch. “Jesus, it’s dark down there.”
    The Wicked Witch was confused. “Why did you look at me when you said that?”
    Stephen replied, “Because I was talking to you.”
    “No you weren’t,” the Wicked Witch said. “You were talking to Jesus.”
    “No I wasn’t,” Stephen said. “I was talking to you.”
    “For fuck’s sake, Stephen,” the Wicked Witch said angrily. “You said, ‘Jesus, its dark down there.’”
    Stephen rolled his eyes then looked at the Wicked Witch. “You’re weird. In fact, not only are you weird, you’re fucking weird.”
    “Fuck you, Stephen,” the Wicked Witch fumed. She grabbed the gun off him and shot him in the chest. He fell back aga inst the wall then slid down to the floor. Blood poured from his chest. She turned to Jesus. “You’re next.” She pulled the trigger and shot him in the throat. He grabbed his neck. Blood dripped between his fingers. His body began to convulse and he started to orgasm. He fell to the ground. The Wicked Witch shot him again. He came again. The Wicked Witch smiled. She had just witnessed the second coming of Christ. Yee-hah, baby.
    The Wicked Witch tucked the rifle into the folds of her dress, left the building, and hailed a cab. One pulled over and she climbed in. “Oz, please,” she said. “And don’t spare the horse’s ass.”
    The driver looked over his shoulder. “You know, you don’t need me to get to Oz. Besides, it’d cost you a trillion gazillion dollars in a cab.”
    The Wicked Witch was perplexed. “I don’t get it. What do you mean, I don’t need you?”
    The driver smiled. “You’ve always had the power to get back to Oz. Them boots you got on. All you need to do is click the heels together seventy two thousand, three hundred and eight times, and say, Fuck where I am, get me back home.” His smile widened. “Fuck where you are, Wendy. Get you back home.”
    The Wicked Witch looked down at her boots. She clicked them once. Only seventy two thousand, three hundred and seven times to go. Twice. Thrice. Four times. Five times.
    “Can you get a move on?” the driver asked. “Time’s a wasting.”
    The Wicked Witch looked up at him. Six, seven times, eight, nine, ten times. Fuck it. She would hitch a ride.
    She climbed out of the cab and started walking. She held out her thumb, hoping someone would stop and give her a lift. Someone did.
    “It’s alright, momma,” the man said in a heavy southern accent. “The ol’ Kentucky rain’s behind us now.” He was dressed in a white, sequinned jumpsuit. He looked like he might have stole it and he was on the run from the jailhouse rock. She wasn’t scared though. After all, she was armed with an automatic rifle. She climbed in and sat next to him. She accidentally trod on his