Hello Unk L, Aunt J, and assorted cats, bats, and belfries; I know that there have been more than several mentions of Wizard of Oz as a traumatizer on this site, and I figured that I would never have anything to add to the discussion. Then came the discovery of WoO with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon on YouTube (HERE).
I had heard the lore, and even tried to do it once or twice in college, but lacked the patience/sobriety to continually flip the album. Finding it with the music overdubbed made actually getting through it more of a possibility. Because circumstance dictates that I am unable to currently deal with reality, I had a steady supply of jazz lettuce, the Devil’s coleslaw, reefer, see? on hand, and embarked on the journey most potheads only dream of. For the most part, it was a lot of fun. Certain coincidental peaks were scarily dead-on, while others required some allowance. It was when our good green goddess of ghoulishness, The Wicked Witch of the West pops up in the crystal ball, mocking Dorothy’s tears. The sudden PKTD (Post Kindertrauma Disorder) kicked in, and I was five years old again, watching this movie in a vintage movie house. My parents had taken my sister and