"The Wizard of Nez?" Micky asked confused. "What happened to OZ?"
"So I used a little creative licensing," Mike replied whispering. "Gimme a break."
Micky turned to Peter cupping his hand around his mouth toward him. "I think we should get his license revoked," he whispered. Peter chuckled to himself bobbing his head.
"What was that?" Mike asked. The two laughing, stood erect holding in their smirks as best they could.
"Nothing Mike," Micky answered. "Let's read."
The Wizard of Nez
Arranged by Mike Nesmith and Davy Jones
A breezy afternoon in Kansas as young Davy...
"Davy?" the one by the same name exclaimed. "I thought you weren't going to change the name."
"Yeah but I though it wouldn't do good with the four of us reading," Mike answered. "Plus it works out better this way. You'll see."
...as young Davy, a young man from England come to live with his aunt and uncle to pursue a life on the farm, ran home down the dirt road to his aunt and uncle's farm. By his side was his trusty dog, Toto, by his feet as he hurried with his books towards his cottage. He periodically turned his head over his shoulder to look behind him.
As he reached the gate to his house, he stopped and caught his breath. He knelt down by his dog picking him up and inspecting his body.
Davy: Are you OK boy? Did that witch hurt you?
Toto: Bark bark.
Davy: She tried to. C'mon, let's go tell Uncle Henry and Auntie Em.
The two run through the gate towards his aunt and uncle who are busily moving the young chickens into new incubators. Davy threw his books on the porch and ran between his aunt and uncle. Henry, a native Texan, and his wife, Emily, an English woman whom he had met and married in the war, moved to Kansas after having no luck chicken farming in Vermont. Ever the farmer, Henry wore his tiny glasses at the end of his nose, gray sideburns, suspenders, and grungy flannel shirt and Emily with her light sun dress and apron. The color is negligible since everything was in black-and-white.
Davy (calling as he ran): Uncle Henry...Auntie Em...(Henry and Em turn to their nephew as he runs up between them) Auntie Em, Miss West tried to beat Toto with her rake.
Aunt Em (in a thick British accent): Oh, come now boy, when I was a girl the neighbors always use to beat my cats with a rake. And they were much sharper rakes too.
Uncle Henry (in an exaggerated Texas accent): Come now Em. The boy shouldn't have to have his dog get hit with rakes in this day and age. Now son, why did she beat on Toto this time?
Davy: He was chasing her vicious old cat again.
Henry: Now why would she be chasin' Toto for that? He does that all the time.
Davy: That's the thing; he doesn't do it every day. He does it about once a week. Then I heard her screaming something about getting the sheriff involved and...
Auntie Em: Now this is very interesting and I'd love to hear it but not now. Wait until they bury me in the dead cold ground. Now go over and bother the hired help.
Davy (sighs): Alright. I'll leave you two alone.
Davy sulked away as his trusty dog followed towards the three workers of the farm who were busily repairing the wagon.
Pickety was a young man with his rough dirty blond hair that stuck straight down from his crude old hat. He was a kindest of the three and very conservative and timid. Shorty was the tallest of the bunch and mysteriously resembled Henry only much younger and without the glasses and gray hair. He would be considered the most self-centered of the three. Do-Do was the clumsiest of the group continually hitting himself on the thumb with the hammer and hitting his head with the pitch fork as he shoveled hay. He had the messiest hair almost looking like a rag doll or scarecrow.
Shorty: OK Do-Do, I'm letting go of the wagon. Move your hands.
Do-Do: You don't have to tell me when to move my hands, I know when to move them thank you very much.
Shorty: OK. (The wagon is dropped and Do-Do still has his hands in place. Tears begin to fill in his eyes as he holds back his scream for agony.) Why Do-Do, did you not remove you hands on time?
Do-Do (in an agonizing squeaky voice): No.
Pickety: Oh Do-Do you nut. (He lifts up the wagon and Do-Do removes his hands quickly clutching them and tears slowly roll down his face.) Ah, it's all right. Don't let Shorty bother you like that.
Do-Do (in his squeaky voice): That's not why I'm crying.
Pickety: Why are you crying?
Do-Do: I think my hands are broken.
Davy sauntered up to the three, hands in his pockets, looking to the ground, kicking stones, and watching his dog jump around his feet. Shorty noticed him first.
Shorty: Oh, hey Davy. How was school?
Pickety: Why David, you seem down. What's wrong?
Davy: Oh, it's just Miss West and Toto got into a fight again and no one will help me fight her back.
Do-Do (approaching the boy holding a hammer): Oh Davy, you just aren't using your head about this. There has to be several ways to beat a broad at her own game like Miss West.
Davy: I use my head all the time. I still don't know what to do.
Do-Do: Well, I'll tell you one thing to do. You...
Shorty (interrupting): Ah, take it from me, kid: Don't take any advise from Do-Do there. He just broke both his hands so he'll only be talking nonsense for the next rest of his life.
Do-Do (annoyed): I'll have you know I'm in perfect condition. My hand doesn't even hurt anymore, see?
He opened and closed his hands several times in front of Shorty's face. Shorty shook his head and turned his attention back to the wagon. Do-Do turned away biting his lip from the pain. He walked away.
Davy (to Shorty): Shorty, what do you think I should do about her?
Shorty: Funny you should ask that, son. Y'see, I myself have had many an experience with old stubborn broads in my life I think you should go out there and speak your mind about the matter. Take complete control of the situation; that's my motto.
Pickety: And I guess afterward, he'd have to call the papers explaining that brilliant advise you gave him, right?
Shorty: If it works.
Pickets took the young man away from Shorty. He took the bucket of slop for the pigs and put his arm around Davy's shoulder and guided him toward the pigpen.
Pickety: Take it from me, David, all you need to do is be brave about it. You have to take her aside and state the truth and demand your rights. I mean, it is not your fault Toto's a dog and he chases cats, right?
Davy: I guess.
Pickety: See? Now take this slop and feed the pigs for me. (He hands the bucket to Davy.)
Davy: But isn't this your job?
Pickety: Davy, I've worked on this farm for seven years and not one day goes by do I run yelling and screaming from the pig pen.
Davy grasped the bucket and Pickety made a hasty retreat away from the pen. Davy shrugged and walked to the pen, bucket in hand.
As he poured the slop into the trough, he heard his aunt walk behind him. In her hand was a plate of homemade cornbread squares. Davy turned and put the bucket down on the ground.
Davy: Hello Auntie Em. (He takes a cornbread square.)
Aunt Em: Doing Pickety's work again I see.
Davy: Yeah, he went running again. But you've got to here what Miss West said she'd do to Toto. She said she...
Aunt Em: Oh, come now boy. You can't be living on what old grouchy women say about your dog. Now go off and play and try to find some place where you won't make trouble. Now I've got to go start dinner. Your Uncle's painting the fence. If you want to do something useful, go and help him.
Emily walked back toward the house with the plate leaving Davy to think about what she said. He looked to his dog that was sitting on the dismantled tractor. He sat there panting, waiting for a piece of the cornbread in his master's hand.
Davy: A place where I won't make trouble. I wonder were that place is. I guess you can't walk there or I'd be there already. Maybe it's somewhere magical. Maybe it's somewhere that you can only get to by some freak accident. Maybe it's...
Davy opened his mouth ready to sing when the loud squeaky voice of his aunt interrupted him.
Aunt Em (screaming): And no singing! The neighbors three miles down have been complaining again.
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