Daddy Wrestles Dorothy

“You’re courageous to speak to me as you do, Dorothy,” the President brings his large, heavy hands over my hips. “I’ve done unspeakable things to people for far less.” “Well then, I suppose I’m quite lucky I’m not one of those people,” I respond. “Tell me. What do I have to do to go home, Mr. President?” “I will give you what you want, but only if you’re willing to fight for it,” Oz shrugs with the sort of emotional indifference that eventually gives way to true evil. The kind of wickedness that leads to pursuing one’s primitive drive to hunt the weak. “We’re going to wrestle now, Dorothy.”