Tales from the Chocolate Factory Crypt
emcmullin at kl.com
Fri Feb 11 14:37:49 EST 2000
Someone just sent me this. Compelled to share:
> To Whom It May Concern:
> If you are reading this, I am already dead. Ever since Mr.
> Wonka left me the chocolate factory, my life has been a living
> hell. I had woken on several occasions to what I am sure were
> the Oompa Loompas stroking my young body. Within two
> weeks of taking control of the factory, my grandfather became
> addicted to Fizzy Lifting drinks, culminating in a tragic fan
> accident. I am sure the Oompa Loompas ate the remains.
> The ghosts of the dead children haunt my every waking
> moment, and pursue me through these twisted halls in my
> nightmares. Veruca screams, burning from the harsh flames
> of the furnace. Augustus Gloop gurgles chocolate from his
> bloated features as he struggles to call my name. The gum-
> chewing girl bursts on a regular basis, showering me with
> blueberry-scented entrails. I think Mike TV still lives in the
> walls like a mouse, stealing my things and keeping me
> awake with his tiny footsteps.
> My other grandparents died long ago, and I shudder to think
> of their final fate at the hands of those tiny orange-skinned
> monsters. My mother long ago went insane, teeth rotting from
> candy. She is locked in the cellar, though I feel her fetid
> breath washing over me from time to time and hear her
> shrieking laughter... "golden ticket... golden ticket."
> The pressures of all this have broken me, compounded with
> the trials of a 10-year-old trying to run a factory populated with
> imps, with ledgers all cut in half and unreadable. As I take my
> life, leaping from the Wonkavator (freedom, sweet freedom), I
> damn thee Wonka. Wherever your soul may rest, I damn
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