Mr. Vinnie Wonka was standing all alone just outside the open doors to the factory.

And what an extraordinarily flamboyant man he was!

He wore a felt bowling cap atop his head. To cover his torso, the extravagant entrepreneur wore a velvet tailcoat. His pantaloons were silky soft and orange, matching perfectly the color of his gloves. His shoulder length hair was platinum blonde, probably dyed, as evidenced by the bleach stains atop his pink boots!

And in his left hand he carried a diamond-encrusted pimp cane.

He walked like a fucking pimp, too, but Charlie Nickles wouldn’t agree.

Why’s he walk like a ?

Gary Stu threw his hands up in annoyance.

CHAWLEY! Stop calling Mr. Wonka a gawddawhm paedophile! He ain’t! He just kinda looks like it, okay?!

I don’t know man, there’s an awful lot of kids here…..I hope Frankie is safe.

Who the hell is Frankie?

Just some kid who was kidnapped and (probably) molested for weeks - not hours - until I rescued him.

Gary shakes his head a few times before looking back over to the flamboyant Vinnie Wonka, who was now pimp-walking his way towards all the contest winners. Mr. Wonka really had some extra pep in his step, almost as if he had just snorted an entire 8ball of coke before he came out here! Wait….what’s that white stuff on his nostril? I hope it’s just sugarcane!

Welcome, friends!

Mr. Wonka smiles wide as his high-pitched and flutey voice carries across the wind.

Will you come forward, one at a time please, and bring your golden ticket to me? I will collect them all and then we will begin this maddening contest!

A big fat boy is the first to step up. He’s wearing an orange luchador mask, and he’s built like a fucking semitruck of lardass. A skinny blonde woman follows closely behind him, scratching at her arms like a goddamned methwhore.

“I’m Augustus BOB! And this is my Aunty Molly Shitters!”

Mr. Wonka raised a curious brow as the fat fuck and the dumb blonde handed him a ticket.

BOB! My dear boy, how good to see you! Delightful even! This fiend is your aunt, you say? Well then you two just come on in!

Mr. Wonka accepts the ticket as a pompous child approaches him while blowing incessant bubbles with their gum. The same boring bubbles, over and over again, with no trace of flair or style. Every bubble they blow is just generic, as if they watched someone else do it first and were just copying. It’s the bubble blowing equivalent of taking potshots at Demos and calling it a day: like who hasn’t been there and done that, y’know?

Following close behind Thaddeus we see Hannibal Lecter, or at least a geezer that looks like him.

And what is your name, little girl?

Thaddeus pops his bubblegum as he replies, but like always, it’s just the same boring bubble everyone else can do.

I’M A BOY! *POP* I’m THE Thaddeus Beauregarde, and this is my bad-touch Grandpa Lou! We’re here to win the *POP* contest and become Kings- or maybe even Queens!

Grandpa Lou smiles like a fucking creep as he places a far-too-loving hand on Thaddeus’s shoulder.

Don’t forget, dear Thad….I’ve already been a King. And just like I made you champion, I may be able to make you King as well…just keep undressing for me in front of that mirror, okay?

Mr. Wonka tries to force a smile, but all that comes out is a cringe and a sigh as he accepts this victim’s ticket.

Well then…why don’t you two just….go inside.

Me next!

The Beauregardes enter the factory as a blonde little girl steps to the front of the pack. The young one is closely followed by her disinterested father, who’s clearly far too rich to care about this silly contest. He’s wearing the nicest suit in town and, despite being a short little manlet, he’s somehow looking down on everyone else around him!

I’m Theo Lack and this is my daughter, Veruca. I bought almost all the Wonka Bars in town and I made the homeless children unwrap them until they found a ticket for my little Veruca.

How….lovely.

Veruca Lack turns towards her father impatiently.

Daddy! I’m bored already! Buy the factory for me so we can go home!

Ok, sweetie, anything for my darling Sarah- err, Veruca!

Theo pulls out a thick wad of cash and offers it to Mr. Wonka, but Vinnie declines forcefully.

The factory is NOT for sale! If you want to be the King of this domain, you’re going to have to win this contest!

Well I’m sorry darling, but I’m not sure I can buy this for yo-

BUT I WANT IT!

Before Theo can respond, a foot flew through the air and slammed straight into his gonads. He crumbled to the ground as his spoiled daughter bitched and moaned some more. Charlie couldn’t help but lean over to Gary Stu and make some side comments as he watched this madness unfold.

This is some obscenely obnoxious conduct, ain’t it?

I reckon so!

As Gary nodded his head in agreement, Theo slowly recovered from the familial low blow. He rose to his feet and, after seeing how much respect everyone had lost for him, he finally snapped.

SMACK!

Theo’s hand connected to his daughter’s face, and that ungrateful bitch went flying straight into the fucking atmosphere! Theo dusted his hands off like a fucking G’, before turning back to a stunned Mr. Wonka, ticket in hand.

I guess I have to find another child, hopefully my wife doesn’t notice…..

Theo turned around and scanned the crowd outside the gates. That’s when he saw a sad looking, dressed in the rags of a homeless street urchin. He recognized this boy as one of his child slaves.

That one! Raven Cheeto! He’ll actually appreciate this ticket!

Mr. Vinnie Wonka shrugged.

Sure, whatever dude. I guess you can pick any kid you want.

The guards escorted Raven Cheeto past the front gate as  Mr. Wonka looked to be getting bored of all these back-and-forths. He reluctantly waved over the last two winners..

And you have tickets as well? We can probably skip past the courtesies and move along now…..it’s not like either of you have a chance to win.

What the fuck does that mean?

Oh, nothing. What were your names again? For record keeping.

I’m Charlie fucking Nickles.

And I’m Mike Jacksoff! But I might be Mike Gravy next week, I don’t know yet!

Mr. Wonka blinked in perplexion.

You don’t know your name, and YOUR middle name is a cuss word….what a weird, weird world!

Mr. Wonka accepted the tickets from the last two competitors while ushering them inside the factory. Before Charlie walked past the giant doors of no return, he took one last look up at the bright blue sky. It was never that blue before. For some reason, the factory’s never-ending slew of exhaust has mysteriously disappeared. Charlie felt a deep sense of unease wash over him as the doors to the factory slammed shut behind him. Then, he felt the sweat-drenching heat of the madness around him. That’s when Mr. Vinnie Wonka trotted up to the front of the group.

Here we are! Right this way! And yes, it is getting hot in here, but please do keep on all your clothes! I have to keep it warm inside the factory because of my workers. My workers are used to an extremely hot climate!

That’s when the fat boy in the mask piped up. For some odd reason, his mouth wasn’t stuffed with lemon cakes at the moment.

But who are these workers?

All in due time, sweet child! Now right this way, please, everyone: because I’ve got something magical to show you! And remember, kids….this IS a contest, so you’ll want to be on your best behavior- and be sure to keep your wits about you! And just so you know, this WILL be kind of like Game of Thrones….

You talm’ bout polearms and pussy? You got polearms and pussy up in this bitch?

Well, no. More in the sense of ‘you either win or you die’. And by the way, please do watch your language in here. The death drones flying overhead have all been programmed to punish obscenely obnoxious conduct on sight.

The contestants all look at each other nervously before they stare up at the sky, and sure enough, they see a handful of military-grade drones whirring above them. Vinnie gestures for the lucky winners to follow him down a narrow corridor…but none seem too keen to follow: save for The Nickleman!

Polearms, pussy, and using them polearms to make dead pussies? Sign me up!

The scene fades to black as The Nickleman leads the pack forward, into the narrow corridor filled with whirring death drones. The Nickleman charged first because he knew he had nothing to fear: the only thing he saw in front of him was opportunity.

Sweet little lies make life more convenient, don’t they, Thaddeus? They can make you seem like a stronger man, a better father, a more attentive lover….but eventually Thaddeus, each and every lie crumbles beneath the pressures of time. Beneath the pressures I apply, more and more relentlessly, each and every fucking minute!

You want to lie about what you ASKED of me, Thaddeus? That’s fucking fine and dandy: but last week, Thad, you told everyone you REMEMBERED what you asked me to do…..so when are you going to give them YOUR SIDE of the story, you stupid little bitch? I have you so caught up in reacting to me, that you can’t even get your own fucking story straight! You’re moaning about dead bitches last week, and then this week you’re hanging out in bathrooms and watching kids play with squirrels. Get a fucking grip, bro.

What the fuck are you even doing with yourself, Thaddeus? Where’s the fucking longevity and continuity you’re supposed to be known for? Did I really throw you off your course this fucking easily? You need to step out from behind that mirror and face the fact that your fortress is crumbling around you. Without me there to call the plays for you, you’re really fucking lost, aren’t ya?

You’re a Duke, I’ll grant you that: but you will NEVER be the King! Not as long as foul air fills my lungs. That’s a BASTARD THRONE, FOREVERMORE! I’m the last Bastard left standing, and that means it falls to me to bring the title home to BOB! You know I'm the favorite to win this match, Thaddeus. It's a prophecy written in your blood, it's a check I cashed from your account. You won’t get the ‘Lauren’ treatment from me, you stupid sack of shit!

You should’ve known I was going to betray you when the chips were down and the tide was high. You never should have put your trust, your faith, and your WIFE’S FUCKING CAREER in my hands! You’re lucky I don’t call a QB sneak every play, just to see if her neck will fucking snap mid-game. These are the thoughts you’re paying me to have, each and every week, when I lead MY NY Pride onto the field! And what do you, while I call the plays and pimp slap the bitches? Well shit, you said it yourself….you just fucking watch from the box. And after I beat your ass tomorrow night, do you know what you’re going to do once more?

Watch. From. The. Fucking. Box: while I become the King of the XWF!

Now that change is so clearly on the horizon, it is high time I made clear to everyone just who exactly saved Frankie, just who exactly made Lauren a champion, and just who exactly is the REAL MAD KING!

Fuck a Demos, fuck a Duke. Both will be dead soon enough.