the haircrow

After making it all the way down the yellow brick road, only to discover that he was already equipped with the ability to make cognitive decisions on his own, Scarecrow realized how foolish he was to have asked the Wizard for a brain.

He should have asked the Wizard for Dorothy instead.

It didn't take the magic of technicolor to make Scarecrow notice the girl's immaculate beauty.

Her flowing locks. Her playful skip. The way her brown eyes would widen whenever she remembered that she wasn't in Kansas.

Scarecrow clenched his hair in frustration and pulled out a handful of hay. He frowned. 

Dorothy was allergic to hay, he remembered.

Scarecrow frowned again.

He should have asked the Wizard for a toupee.