The end.

The end.
Or is it?...
I often ask myself if what I perceive is reality or fantasy. I have to make sure ever since the time that I got lost in the woods and thought I saw Dorothy. She directed me to
bring regular packages of blue jeans, electronics, gemstones, all kinds of odd stuff. I'd just drop the boxes off in the forest and then Dorothy would tell me what to bring next.
One day I had an idea, I would put a snake in one of Dorothy's boxes to scare her. I will get my revenge on Dorothy... And Toto too...
Everyone at school was jealous of Dorothy, she would go on and on about how marvelous Oz was and here we were stuck in Kansas. When the scarecrow showed up at class, we snubbed her
and her red shoes and stupid scarecrow. Who cares about Oz anyway? Who cares about a land of dreams and yellow brick roads? We, the realists, will come out on top.
We will quash ALL dreams, freeing humanity from the tyranny of
their puerile details. Why should they need to know anything about what's going on? Information exists solely for our organization to hide. Quash them all, I say.
" With that, the Emperor executed Order 26, and storm troopers across the galaxy suddenly burst into dance. The Star Wars Christmas Special had been unleashed. We were all doomed.

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