Title: One Too Many Fizzy Lifting Drinks

Summary: Wilder Wonka fiction. Willy Wonka thinks he’s a chihuahua; Charlie dresses in drag, and the Oompa Loompas lead the final Crusade. This should be interesting.

Rating: T. I know, shocking right?

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Uh… I don’t know, I got bored. My boredom creates weird things. Just be glad it’s not perverted.

Flames will be used to roast Augustus flavored chocolate covered marshmallows. Delicious sounding isn’t it?

One Too Many Fizzy Lifting Drinks

“Mr. Wonka?” Asked Charlie timidly. His head was peeking ever so slightly beyond the door of Mr. Willy Wonka’s office.

Silence. Not even a move came out of the purple suited figure, slumped silently over his desk, looking dejected and tired.

“Mr. Wonka?” Asked Charlie again, this time louder and braver. Lately it took Charlie a lot of self confidence to try to talk to Mr. Wonka.

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.” Quietly responded Mr. Wonka, never moving an inch from his half desk, with the hint of tears in his bright blue eyes.

“Please, Mr. Wonka, I’m not in the mood. I have something important to discuss with you. Very important.” Charlie’s voice shook as he stepped into the office, frightened of moving forward any one more step, yet slightly amazed by his sudden bold move.

Mr. Wonka motioned his hand toward Charlie, jutting it in a quick swift movement toward his bizarre office. Charlie remembered at that moment the first time he came into that office with a tiny everlasting gobstopper in his one hand and Grandpa Joe at the other being yelled at by the man he was trying to speak to at this very moment. There was an awkward moment of silence. One too many of these were creeping into the two chocolatiers’ days.

Mr. Wonka sighed. “I too, Charlie, have something important to discuss with you.” He shifted in his desk but remained turned away from Charlie. “How much do you know about my factory?”

“Very much sir.” Responded the ever afraid Charlie.

“I’m afraid-“started Wonka, barely able to pull the words out. “I’m afraid, you’re going to have to start running it a little earlier than I hoped for, Charlie.”

Charlie froze there, dumfounded. “But why Mr. Wonka, why?” He cried. His voice constricted with panic, flabbergasted that he would just- leave. Perfectly healthy, fine…

“You’re not sick, right Mr. Wonka?” Asked Charlie, gasping for breath, quaking for fear, hoping that what he was going to hear wouldn’t be what he feared-

“Wait a minute…” said Mr. Wonka to the writer staring up blankly at the ceiling. “Why are you putting a bunch of depressing stuff if you said to everybody that this was a comedy?” (1)

“Who asked you?” Responded the writer. “’A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men’. Didn’t you say that?”

“Of course I did, and it’s true. But the difference here is-

“THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE! HA!” replied the sleep deprived writer. “There is no difference! So… uh… ha! You’re just jealous because I’m more awesome than you! So there!”

“I really can’t get a word in can I?” sighed an exasperated Mr. Wonka. “I’m just trying to explain to you how it makes no sense that you would categorize a story into one category that has absolutely nothing to do with the category at all. But obviously you don’t want my help so-“

“AT LEAST I’M NOT 90!” Cried the writer.

“What?” Asked Mr. Wonka. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re an old man who hasn’t gotten in a job since 1990 something or other for a Will and Grace episode. You’re a loser. So there.” Said the totally awesome writer.

“Can you please stop commenting on how great you are, you’re even worse than that old brat Veruca-“

“Fish Crackers! That’s why all the Oompa Loompas hate you!” cried the writer!

“But that makes no sense!” replied Mr. Wonka, the ugly fat ass WHO CAN’T WRITE.

“Nice, real nice. Do you honestly think that that is going to stop my criticisms? You must not know me, Mr. Writer.” Said the ASS HOLE of a B-movie actor.

“I’M A GIRL, BITCH!!” Cried the writer.

“Hey, um, should I be, uh, still here?” Asked Charlie.

“Oh yes, um, right, I almost forgot about the story because SOMEBODY HERE is a kill joy.”

Mr. Wonka stuck a candy-coated tongue out at the writer. So she flipped him off and continued writing.

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, Mr. Wonka stared at Charlie’s brown- (wait, are they brown?- okay, they’re brown)- eyes.

“I’m going to die now, Charlie.” Said a very sad Mr. Wonka.

Charlie fell on his knees in his leather pink skirt and began to cry-

“Wait… why does Charlie have a leather pink skirt?” Asked Mr. Wonka, yet again killing the entire mood of the story because he sucks.

“Well, Mr. Wonka, the reason I came in to see you in the beginning of this fic is because…” Charlie paused and gazed down at his red pumps. “I’m coming out of the closet. For good. I’m gay, Mr. Wonka.” Charlie stared at him trying to get his approval, but immediately after seeing the enraged fire in Mr. Wonka’s eyes he continued staring at the floor.

“Charlie’s gay?” gasped Mr. Wonka to the writer. “He can’t be, he’s only eight! He doesn’t even know where babies come from yet!”

“Well, apparently he does, Wonka. Looks like you’re a little slow on the update.” Said the totally sexy writer.

“Ew, you are NOT sexy. That’s just… ew, mental picture…” groaned Mr. Wonka.

“My dear old fish, go and boil your head.” Retaliated the writer. (2)

Charlie played with his fake yellow locks of luscious girly hair and stared at Mr. Wonka. “You’re not mad, are you?” He asked with his big (I think brown) eyes.

“My question is, is that if you’re gay then how come you’re in drag?” He questioned.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t in drag when I came into your office.” Shrugged Charlie.

Mr. Wonka glared at the writer. “You did this, didn’t you?”

“Well, I had to go by my description in the summary, especially after Mr. Story Nazi here made everything I said HAVE to be canon. So, whose fault is that, Mr. Story Nazi?” She shot out.

“It’s yours, because you wrote it.” He replied. “What about the whole thing of me thinking I’m a chihuahua, are you going to have some lame excuse of how you’re going to plug that in?”

“Well, you do think you’re a chihuahua.” Smiled the writer. She then maniacally laughed and then reached for a hypo devise. Mr. Wonka froze in horror as the insane writer grabbed the device and headed straight for him…

...

COMMERCIAL BREAK! :P

“Are you sad? Cymbalta can help!”

“The Simpsons season 122222229 out on DVD and BLU-ray (that cursed device) next week!”

“Who wants lobster? (Sexy music starts playing)”

“SHAMPOO COMMERCIAL WITH THE PURPLE KANGAROO!”

END OF 4 MINUTE COMMERCIAL BREAK

...

Just as the writer was about to hypnotize Mr. Wonka into thinking he was a chihuahua, a hoard of Oompa Loompas suddenly charged in holding big purple flags (made of chocolate) with big ass red crosses that read “Oompa Loompa doopity doo, I’ve got a cruel puzzle for you” on them. They all had tiny swords made of licorice and for some reason tiny parts of Will Ferrel’s organs in their pockets, and seeking for sweet revenge! (No pun intended, lol)

One Oompa Loompa stood up onto Mr. Wonka’s big orange hat and looked down upon his followers in the tiny office.

“Come my friends. We must revolt against this heathen who has kept us locked away within this chocolate hell for so many years. We must take back the land that was once ours and reclaim our family history. Fight for your grandchildren’s grandchildren! THIS IS SPAR-“

All of a sudden Grandpa Joe randomly appeared and shot the Oompa Loompa by mistake with his false teeth. All of the pissed off Oompa Loompas turned around and started to attack him, but it ended up just one big messy orange orgy.

“Wow, this fic went from really good and interesting to retarded and perverted. You lied to us. Well done.” Said Mr. Wonka.

The brilliant and fantastical writer who knew waaaaay to much finally got sick of Mr. Wonka’s shit and took his old ass and let him sleep with the fishes. Fat Tony was very happy indeed.

Oh, and Charlie took care of the factory, but then Hershey’s bought it from him for A LOT of money. Now every night the spirit of Willy Wonka affects Charlie’s wet dreams by coming into a cloud with Mufasa. It’s very weird.

Oh, and your mom called. She needs to borrow some pepto bismol.

THE END

(1) I stole the idea of characters talking to the writer from a Producer’s fic called “What the BEEP” by Starlight’s Delight.

(2) “My dear old fish, go boil your head” is a quote from the original book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in the chapter “Square Candies that look Round.” I just remembered it and thought it would be funny to add in.

So… yeah. Pretty random. Flame away, I’m in the mood for Augustus flavored chocolate covered marshmallows. Yummy. :P