As the singing of the joyous munchkins of primary delegate math rang through the forest, the Wicked Witch of the East curled up her toes and shrank away to a puddle of malevolent goo, crushed under the House of Hope. Ambitions dashed, she's going where the goblins go, back to the Senate, to recruit more winged monkeys and plot her revenge.

Meanwhile, a painted wagon full of magical wonders makes its way towards the Emerald City bearing the Great and Wonderful Obama to his destined throne room. Listen to the giant head and heed his words, for they are as empty as he is and filled with fairycake and dreams. Pay no attention to the little man behind the curtain. He's just some Hungarian gypsy fortune teller with a bag full of money and a bag full of lies, and his fingers twisted in the strings of the puffed-up prophet of hype.

Who plays the other roles in this absurdist fairytale drama? Would McCain look good in a blue-checked gingham dress? Can he muster the dauntless innocence to shatter the illusions of the Great and Wonderful Obama and show us all the man behind the mask? Is Toto Lieberman the answer? Dogs are long on loyalty, but short on political clout. Will his advisors help or hinder? Is Phil Gramm really an asset, clunking around in a tin suit looking for his heart? Does William Kristol make a good cowardly lion? Is Karl Rove the secret brain the Scarecrow is looking so hard for? Or would we all just be better off if they lay down in the field of poppies for a long, long time.

And here's the scary part. Remember that witch? She comes back playing her sister in Act III. But you know it's really her just the same. She's doesn't know how to write a concession speech and her winged monkeys are always ready for trouble. She's convinced that the ruby slippers only come in her size, so she'll be back relentlessly to try to claim them.

Where's Glynda when we need her?