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RPG Wonka Inc. [M-LSV]


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Chapter One: The Golden Ticket
Welcome to Wonka Inc.! As I introduce each chapter, I will provide a brief description of what I'm looking for and I'll list the post order. This way, nobody will be confused. But also, you'll have plenty of opportunities to go your own way and come up with lots of your own unique ideas. Don't forget, you're free to explore things as much as you like. ~_^

[b]Chapter Description:[/b] In this chapter, we find out how each character came across their golden tickets. This chapter may or may not include their trip to Hollywood, for the [b]Kids & Candy Concert[/b]. Whether you include your character's trip there is entirely up to you.

[b]Post Order:[/b] The post order is as follows:


If you have any questions, please use the [url="http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?t=46505"]sign-up thread[/url]. I will not be creating an Underground thread for this RPG.

[b]Other Notes:[/b] If you wish to use HTML for this RPG (and that's up to you), you can use any format you like. However, please stick to a minimum of [b]size 2 text[/b]. That is my only request.

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For the interview, he wore a suit; new. It had been bought the day before by his mother, who insisted he'd look adorable in it. He would have much rather worn his Wonka regalia, of which had drawer upon drawer of in his bereau upstairs. But he was downstairs, in the family room, where the TV sat quietly for the first time in months. They were sitting side-by-side on the garish green couch set conventiently in front of that lucid LCD screen that the little boy so idolized. Mike's hair had been combed -- also for the first time in months -- by his mother just an hour before, so insanely neat that it the news crews were convinced it was a wig.

People scurried back and forth with camera's lights, and other miscellaneous equipment that he didn't care about. With mild amusement, he sniffed the air; shitty cologne, alcohol, and cigar smoke. They were the mafia, just as he had predicted.

He hated it. He hated his suit, his hair, and those mother-fucking reporter-gangsters that so boldly invaded his home. Who were they to come in here and talk to him like they knew him, like they were his best friend? He didn't need them. And oh, how he would love to plunge his steak knife (for protection from the mafia and aliens, wouldn't you know) into their arrogant throats. Currently, it was taped to his ankle. It would be so easy...

"Mike, honey? He asked you a question." came his mother's voice, as if from another universe. His head cocked abruptly to the side to look at her (under five pounds of make-up and wearing a dress to match the couch), who motioned subtly but frantically toward the clean-cut young man who had apparently been talking to him for the past minute.

Mike's eyes moved slowly to the side, not turning his head at all, glaring menacingly at the reporter, gauging him. He would not speak to a coward, no matter what his mother did later. Such is the way of insanity.

The young man cringed on his stool, accidently making a stray mark on his notepad, which he quickly erased with the speed only someone who took notes for a living could accomplish. He could feel the fearful sweat building up in his armpits and running down his torso; he wasn't just scared of this kid, he was freaking [i]terrified.

[/i]"Uh... I asked, W-What did you first do when you found the golden ticket?" The reporter said weakly, stumbling over his words.

"Fuck you." Mike Teevee replied pleasantly.

He picked up the television remote sitting next to him without giving the reporter a chance to react. Instantly, vibrant and almost erotic music filled the room, music by the very man Mike would be meeting in person. The crews stopped what they were doing when the music began to play, and their confused reaction filled him with such sadistic pleasure that a wicked grin broke out on his face.

"So, you like Mr. Wonka's music too?" the reporter on the stool asked sheepishly.

Mrs. Teevee urged Mike in wide and crazy eyes to answer to the affirmative. He knew she was dissappointed by his behavior (appalled was the word she would use later), but he honestly didn't care. The only reason he didn't throw a sardonic comment at the jackass sitting in front of him was the music. Nothing else mattered.

He nodded his head absent-mindedly, and the reporter decided to ask his mother instead. "Mrs. Teeve, could you please tell me about how your son came across a Golden Ticket?"

Excerpts of the Reporter's quotes from Mrs. Teevee:

"I was so excited when little Mike came up to me and told me he had won the contest to meet Mr. Wonka, but I really didn't know much about it. I mean, children these days are always doing their own thing, so I just let him be the way he wanted..."

"...So anyway, Mike came up to me and showed me his golden ticket -- he was so excited! It was almost too much to bear, him being one of the lucky few. I can barely believe it now. He just opened up a chocolate bar I had bought him when I went shopping, and there it was! Just sitting there waiting for him. He's such a good boy..."

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[FONT=Tahoma][SIZE=2][COLOR=DarkRed]Charlie reluctantly broke away from his lovers' intense fondling and tried to constrain his voice into a whisper, though it came out more like a moan.

?I have to go soon??

?Silly Bucket, 3 hours isn?t what I?d call soon? Tim replied softly and showed no sign of stopping.

?I know but if I don?t prepare myself mentally to leave and just run straight from the bed and out the door, I might get arrested for indecent exposure? he quickly spurted out, spazming in between the electric waves that shot through his body.

?You mean because of this?? Delicate fingertips rubbed the hard contour under the sheet in very slow and deliberate strokes. ?Still so polite and [I]almost [/I]unspoilt? chirped the older boy with a hint of sadistic pleasure in his tone. ?Looks like we?ve still got some work to do until the rest of you is as untamed as this wild beast.?

?Seriously, T--- oooooooh?? In the back of his mind Charlie thought of excuses to tell his mother for being late while pretending to actually make an effort in breaking loose from the enthusiastic hands, which of course only egged them both on further.

The ?T&T? game (as Tim had affectionately named it) was a favourite of theirs; a tussle back and forth in submission and dominance, resistance and surrender. Though Charlie lacked the confidence to be dominating, something Tim did his best to change by teasing him into taking charge.

?I?d continue but since you have to go soon?? Tim whispered tauntingly in Charlie?s ear before moving down the bed.

?Aaaaaahhhh, don?t you dare sto---? the sensation of a wet tongue snaking down his spine and lips suckling their way around the hip rendered him speechless until the desire for release made him beg for mercy explicitly.

?That?s more like it, loverboy...?

It was more than 3 hours later that he stumbled out the apartment, adjusting his boxers and walking in a half-sprint down the street. Heavy beats streamed out of Tim?s window doing their best to snatch Charlie back inside, but he still didn?t feel strong enough to risk facing the consequences of his mother finding out about this new page in his life. Chuckling at the thought of being more resilient against the pleasure in his life than the pain, a flickering light from the beauty parlor across the busy road bounced into his eyes. The stinging rays made it difficult to see if anyone was in his way or not so it wasn?t surprising that he ran straight into someone carrying a large box, causing the contents to spill out on the pavement and creating both a scene ? as well as the most delightful potpourri of art he?d even seen.

Strewn out in front of him was the latest cd from Willy Wonka, every single inlay designed in a way different from the other. One case in particular attracted his attention. The plastic cover had been completely shattered, not unlike a mirror waiting to fall apart after having something thrown at it. Charlie was slightly sedated by pure shock from the impact of the rather heavy courier and so mesmerized with what seemed like the gateway to another world that he didn?t hear a rather incoherent verbal exchange between the upset owner and the equally pissed off courier. It wasn?t until after being brutally pulled to his feet and pushed into the music store that his senses began to return to normal.

?I?m so terribly sorry, there was a light and it ?? Charlie began to apologize but his voice slowly faded out when he saw that the owner was solely focusing on the condition of the cd?s that had fallen out of the box. A tense silence wrapped around the two as they went into an office at the back of the store. The atmosphere reminded him of scenes from movies he?d seen on tv, where the silence was always followed by a terrible secret being revealed or someone?s fate being decided on.

?Hmph, well, looks like there?s only one that?s damaged? the man muttered somewhat dissapointedly and stepped out into the store again, motioning for Charlie to follow. Criss-crossing through the isles they walked over to the cash registers where a young girl slouched over the counter, looking very busy with filing her nails. When she spotted the owner her back shot straight up and the extended eyelashes began fluttering madly.

?Good morning Mr Owner, sir? she squealed with an almost other-worldly perky voice, through a smile that would?ve made an orthodontists orgasm.

?It would seem so, Miss Day. Especially for this young man who gets to take home a copy of what looks to be the next number one album, a day earlier than everyone else? the owner smiled to Charlie and patted him roughly on the back. ?At full price, of course? he added and stuffed the cd into Charlie?s hands before turning on his heel, leaving two very confused teenagers gaping after him. The girl more so over the fact that Wonka had stated his latest cd would be sold for half the retail price [I]maximum [/I](since he was more interested in getting his message spread than his accountant?s legs when she insisted on going through boring sales numbers with him personally), Charlie because he could sense impending doom if he was caught with it.

?You don?t like Manson or something?? she questioned inquisitively after looking him up and down.

Charlie felt frantic with worry, his eyes switching between being glued to the broken case and the counter, trying to think of how to get out of a possible disaster. Absentmindedly he fingered a stack of cd?s next to the cash register that had a familiar face on them.

?? Mozart.?

?Huh?? she bleated at the (in her ears) intelligible name.

?Mozart? he said more decisively, tapping on the stack. ?I like Mozart. How much is it??

The girl looked at him with a very unimpressed face before putting a copy in a plastic bag along with the Wonka cd and ringing up the items.

?That?ll be $30 in total, please.?

Throwing some bills at the counter and snatching the plastic bag Charlie made a mad dash, worthy of an Olympic gold, back to his house. He staked out the driveway from the safety of their neighbours huge rhododendron bushes, simultaneously calling the home number on his cell to check if anyone was home. There were no cars around so when no one answered he felt it safe to sprint the rest of the way to his room, lock the bedroom door, jumping into the closet and slump down to the floor. Once his heartbeat sunk to a semi-normal pace he tugged a string dangling next to the door. Fragile light shone down onto his lap where the cd?s lay in the bag. He pulled out the Wonka cd, admiring it despite not being able to see much through the cracks, then slowly began opening the broken case.

"[I]At once my dim closet was illuminated by a radiant yellow shimmer and there it was ... The Golden Ticket, beaming brilliantly at [B]me[/B], of all people.[/I]"

- Charlie[/COLOR][/SIZE][/FONT]

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[b]One week ago[/b]

[I]Hey, Mr. Superstar:
?I?ll do anything for you?
?I?m your number one fan?

Hey Mr. Porno Star,
I, I, I, I want you..[/I]

[b]?Violet, turn that music down, or turn it off! One or the other!? [/b]Mr. Beauregarde?s voice rang through the house. It was a rather luxurious house, a big house; almost too big for two.

Inside that house, in the farthest room from the street, on the second floor, a young girl becoming a woman sat in silence. She stared down at the white tiles of her bathroom?s floor, entranced with the flow of smooth lyrics and music. She ignored the constant calling of her name. His voice annoyed her. She hated his voice. So nasal-like, so high pitched, and he talked much to fast; almost like a woman who was too classy for her own good. Some days, her head would throb a tune to every syllable in her father?s speech. So, to drown him out, Violet smirked and slowly turned the knob of her stereo?s volume up a few dials. She loved [I]his[/I] voice. His voice was mesmerizing and beautiful. Whether he was yelling in his music, or singing poetic and light, his voice always soothed her.

[b]?Oh, Mr. Wonka, don?t you know I?ll do anything for you??[/b] Violet traced his face on the CD cover laying beside the stereo. The black and rich, dark green cover contrasted harshly against the tile. If it weren?t for the stainless steel sink and bathroom accessories, this single CD would have tipped the balance of the all-white bathroom.

Once again, Mr. Beauragarde?s voice boomed. But it was quickly silenced either out of frustration, or surrender. Violet chuckled to herself. Today was a good day. Today, she didn?t feel the throbbing in her head; just pure annoyance. Instead there had been a lingering pain elsewhere. It was a place that Violet wouldn?t dare speak to her father about. This was an area that she knew all too well. An area that could deliver pleasure, or filth. But, what was happening in this area, Violet knew wasn?t self-inflicted. She hadn?t caused this pain, so what exactly was it? She remembered a bit of something a female teacher had told her and her fellow female classmates, but she couldn?t be certain. Violet wanted her mother, she?d know what to do. Violet?s mother died when she was very young, this would have been her business; not her father?s. As she sat there, the pain intensified. She clutched her lower abdomen. It felt as if thousands of needles were stabbing at the soft tissue inside of her.

Violet?s confusion bloomed into knowledge soon enough, instinctively. Her thighs were heated, and a moistness seeped between them. The sensation was slow and developing at first; it was like the affect of blowing a bubble from gum between the lips. And like this affect, once the bubble pops, the saliva or condensation from heated breath spills out. Only, for Violet?s real situation, it was not a bubble of gum, and it was not saliva or condensation. Almost frightened, and hesitant, Violet pulled up on her sundress to see that the moistness wasn?t her imagination, or a bubble of gum. The once white tiles between her legs became a canvas of a red painting of her official womanhood. Her eyes widened in a slight panic, yet, the feeling of joy crept up on her.

The small canyons between the tiles soon became streams of her body?s discharge. Violet, curious of her body?s odd actions, cautiously trailed her hands between her thighs; just to make sure she hadn?t somehow acquired an injury. Her fingers slid gracefully over her tender, slick flesh and skin. It was an odd feeling between her slender fingers. Almost gel-like, but not entirely fluid, and it squished when she pinched her index finger and thumb together. Violet stared, fascinated with this discovery, this self-acknowledgement. She knew it was disgusting, that her father would be forever disturbed that she enjoyed the feeling of her new body, but something inside of her couldn?t help but to be aroused. This would be the best day of her life. This, was a good sign. And Violet, proud of her developing body, drew a red heart in one three inch-by-three inch tile.

[b]?I am glad. It is just as I had hoped,? [/b]she sighed and leant back against the tiled wall, just below the sink. She smiled at her defiled hand with a sense of pride and pleasure.

[I]Hey, hey, hey Mr. Superfuck,
I wanna go down on you?[/I]

[b]?Because, I am now a woman. And isn?t that what women do?? [/b]Violet picked up the CD with her messy hand and rubbed her thumb along Mr. Wonka?s overly painted lips, [b]?Hm, it seems that red isn?t your color, Sir.?[/b]

[I]Hey, Mr. Supergod,
Will you answer my prayers?

Hey, hey, hey Mr. Superman,
I want to be your little girl..[/I]

Violet stared up at the stainless steel sink, giggling at her reflection. His little girl sat in a puddle of her own blood, fantasizing of only one thing: To personally show Mr. Wonka that she is, in fact, a woman.

[I]I know that I can turn you on..[/I]


[b]?So, are you excited, Violet? Of course, you are! This will be the biggest wave of attraction to our name. I am counting on this to bring some more youthful costumers to the lot. Do you think it?ll work? You can get your new room redecorated then,? [/b]Mr. Beauragarde rambled on like a high school teenager.

[b]?This is going to be a long trip,? [/b] Violet breathed into her magazine.

They had only been in the air for an hour, and her father?s mouth had not stopped moving since they left the ground. It was thanks to Mr. Wonka?s compliments of an array of gifts, from an autographed autobiography, magazines, CDs, that kept Violet occupied and oblivious to her father.

[b]?Couldn?t you have worn something--less white-trashy? Violet, are you listening to me? I buy you all these ?in? clothes, and you don?t wear them. If you do wear them, they are destroyed and torn to shreds. I don?t understand you,? [/b] Mr. Beauragarde shook his head, finally shutting his mouth.

[I]I hate today?[/I]
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Guest Sean

[SIZE=2]Augustus was tired; he was sweaty and hot, but he was mainly tired, his arm was slowly numbing, and the pages before him urged him on, but not even a dribble, not the tiniest sign of it, he thought he could, but he couldn?t, all he could do was turn the pages; even that got boring for the poor boy who closed the magazine and slipped it underneath his bed. He thought to himself, ?[I]maybe one night, maybe I could pay someone?is that legal? I hope so?[/I]?. Augustus drifted off into a deep sleep which surrounded himself in naked woman dancing around chocolates cakes, in the background he saw some burning CD?s, a few names burned away into ashes, and the woman danced on, doing god knows what else with those cakes. Augustus was in bliss.

The next day Augustus woke up to find his room in his normal state, the pictures of his favourite bands on his wall, and the handcuffs prepared underneath his pillow, he felt around for them, grasping the cold metal like nothing else mattered, and all the wonderful memories of the dreams came flooding in.

[I]Knock Knock[/I]

?[B]Who the hell is it?[/B]? Augustus yelled as he was brought back into reality, his mothers voice returned, and Augustus got prepared for breakfast. Leaving the handcuffs, and fantasy?s behind him, to be the good ole? Augustus Gloop; son of a billionaire fraudulent dick of a father, and son to a crack-whore who sells herself on the street, Augustus is still scarred from when him and his friends witnessed her giving herself to one ?big? man in particular.

Augustus ?ate? his fibre bran meal which didn?t hit the bottom of his bottomless pit of a stomach because it was fed to the dog; Augustus smuggled some cakes from the utility room and made his way to his room. He was very much excited about the Wonka concert approaching, it was only a few days back that he had found the ticket in his new ?Best Of:? CD.

Augustus sat on the couch and switched on his Wonka CD collection, whilst drowning himself in his collection of adult magazines. Augustus was only 11, but he had the biggest pornography stash hidden under his giant bed, the paper used to make all those magazines could have saved a few tree?s at least. But the young boy never got sick of the naked woman pleasuring themselves in all sorts of ways. With chains and bed posts to simple foreplay, Augustus has it all, from soft core to hardcore, the biggest collection in history, and it doesn?t stop at paper, he has a wardrobes full of Video?s and DVD?s.

Augustus put on a DVD; and flicked through the adverts in the back of the magazine. He saw a few ?Cum Call Us? and ?Cum In 30 Seconds? ads; but he couldn?t, he hadn?t started puberty. So he just glanced through the adverts, getting slightly bored along the way.

Augustus fell asleep, and he had only woken up a few hours beforehand; he slept for a few hours, and then was harshly woken up by the rapping on his door. Augustus finally gave in and opened the door, it was his mother with some other woman, the other woman walked straight into Augustus room without saying anything, expected a few things and turned around to Augustus with a giant smile on your face.

?[B]Guess what lucky boy gets to see Wonka, eh?[/B]?

Augustus felt like slapping the woman, but felt that wasn?t the way to get in the good books with Wonka, so he grunted and lifted an already packed suitcase at the other end of his room. Labelled over it ?Fragile Contents? on it for his collection of Wonka CD?s and Adult DVD?s were in there.

He brought the DVD?s, because he didn?t know when he would turn a man, maybe his voice would deepen that day too. He could only hope.[/SIZE]

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[FONT=Arial]Mr Salt blinked as he digested this information.

'Pardon, darling?'

'What are you, deaf? I got a gold ticket!' The girl bounced in her seat, waving the small sheaf of paper around triumphantly. Mr Salt looked over at his daughter as she celebrated this apparent victory, wincing as the CD that had cost him public humiliation was crushed under the sharp point of her pumps.

'Settle darling, you don't want to cause an accident.'

For once Veruca seemed to listen to her father, having considered internally the chances of using and abusing her new-found ticket if she had been the victim of a car accident. Brushing the shards of shattered plastic off the seat and smoothing her dress under her, Veruca sat back down, almost obediently.

Mr Salt raised an unseen eyebrow in his gimp mask and continued driving silently. She was up to something. It was obvious.


[I]The Salt house was perfect. A two story building, white panelling and red tiling on the roof with lawns trimmed to perfection and cordoned off from the rest of the street by a shallow picket fence. Rose busges lined the path into the house, and a two car garage sat to the side of it. Out back the yard backed onto a shallow river, but not before traversing a pool and yet more expansive green lawn. A single battered dog kennel marred the yard, but even it was perfect, in it's own way.

It was the American Dream, and was perfect in every way. It exuded family values, it exuded love. But it was really a house of depravity.[/I]


'Hoooooney, we're home.' Mr Salt's voice called out throughout the cavernous longueroom as he walked through the front door, Veruca leading him by his chain. 'Sorry we're late, there was traffic'

'Mmm... I missed you both...' Out of seeming nowhere a tall woman with willowy proportions appeared, a skin tight latex dress clinging to her every curve. Behind her, a hunch back man followed, an executioner's mask stretched over his lumpy and bald skull. He walked, Mr Salt noticed, with a curious gait. This didn't escape Veruca's attention either.

'Ooooo! Mummy! You've outfitted your gimp with that massive dildo you showed me!' Forgetting about her own father she ran over to examine the poor hunch backed man, pulling down his leather pants and whistling impressed. 'It's amazing what you can do Mum'.

The woman looked down at her daughter and smiled. 'I do my best dahlink,' she said, before gliding over the thick carpet of the longueroom to kiss her husband and speak to him in hushed tones. 'I trust she wasn't too much trouble...''

'Only some public humiliation... rather tame today really... she didn't even make me buy her anything... '

Mrs Salt ran a hand up her husband's leg, rubbing his leather-clad thigh.

'That's sooo good... Maybe I should reward your for looking after her so well.... because you're such a good Daddy-Gimp...' Her hand kept sliding up till she was lightly caressing his balls, and her lips sought his for another soft kiss.

'Maybe you should...' he muttered as his tongue wormed between her vivid red lips

It was at the moment Mr Salt's tongue began it's gentle dance with Mrs Salt's that Veruca's voice cut through and ruined the moment, in alarming style.

'Oh, Mum, did I tell you I got a gold ticket? It was in a Willy Wonka album!'

Mrs Salt froze, and her gentle caressing of Mr Salt's balls became a vicelike grip.

'I thought you didn't buy anything,' she hissed at her husband.

'Well... you see...'

'You know my thoughts on that Wonka character.'

'I didn't really have much choice in the ma-'

'Gimp or not she's a 14 year old girl, you couldn't just say no?!'

'It was an embarrassing situa-'

'God, you're so pathetic, no wonder I gave you to that brat.' With a snarl she squeezed and twisted his balls and spat in his face, before releasing him and pushing him to the ground. Mr Salt gripped his crotch and collapsed to the ground whimpering in pain, an angry shade of red appearing on the few patches of face visible through the gimp mask. Veruca was oblivious to this.

'Well, can I go?' her voice eager. Seething, Mrs Salt turned back to her daughter, her fists clenching again and again.

'No darling,' she said slowly. 'You know Mummy's thoughts on Mr Wonka...'

'But it's a once in a lifetime opportunity! There was less than 10 tickets released into the world! Pleeeeeease.' Veruca's face was wracked with want, and Mrs Salt tried her best to deny her. And failed. Turning her back to the teen, she massaged her temples and breathed slowly, her mind considering the options.

'You need a guardian?' her voice was sharp and acidic.

'Well... yes.' Mrs Salt cursed and thought for a few moments.

'Fine. But your father can take you,' she said finally. Veruca smiled wide.

'Thaaaaaanks Mum! I love you so so much!' With that she ran up the stairs to the second floor, eager to organise an appropriate outfit for such an auspicious occasion.

With the sounds of draws opening serenading them, Mrs Salt looked down on her husband, who was only know recovering from the woman's brutal testicular attack.

'No ifs. No buts. You're taking that bitch to Wonka Inc. Do you hear me whore?' When Mr Salt didn't respond immediately she kicked him hard, her pointed boots digging between his ribs. 'DID YOU HEAR ME?'

Mr Salt sucked in some air and exhaled once, before muttering the words Mrs Salt wanted to hear. 'I heard you.'[/FONT]
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[size=2]The alarm clock cut through his dreams like corn through the bowels, swiftly and disgustingly. Allen Ridley rolled over and shut it off with a slap, knocking it to the floor and under his bed. He rolled over again. Sunlight streamed into the small apartment, lighting it with the glow of...

[b]Allen-[/b] "Oh shit..." He forced himself to a sitting position and dug under the bed. His apartment smelled like cigarette smoke. Dishes littered every available surface. He pulled from nder the bed a half a piece of pizza, put it back, and then found the clock. 11:26pm. "Man..." He put it back under the bed and sat there. How long had it been going off? He thought he set it for nine. The doorbell rang. He stared at the door with blank eyes and stood. That's what had woken him up. Not the alarm. The doorbell rang again. "Coming..."

Allen stood up slowly, wary of last nights leavings on the floor. He'd thrown a small party to celebrate his Wonka interview. Candy wrappers and beer bottles littered the room. He stepped over someone and placed a hand on the door, steadying himself. What a hangover... Allen opened it.

[b]Delivery Guy-[/b] "Allen Ridley?" Allen nodded, trying to make the mans face come into focus. His face seemed too long for his body. "Sign here." Allen took the outstreatched pen with a grimace, and slashed a mark across the line.

[b]Allen-[/b] "Thanks..." He grabbed the package and shut the door. Then opened it back up. "Sorry." He handed the guy a five, and shut the door. It was a small package, no larger than a boxed DVD. There was a letter attatched to it. Allen made his way over the bodies of comatose friends, and friends of friends, and sat down at his table. He opened the letter quietly, the slightest noise sending a spike of pain into his skull.

[quote][i]"Don't fuck up, Ridley."[/i][/quote]

[b]Allen-[/b] "What the hell?" The return address was for the Rolling Stone, his employer. He turned the note over, looking for more, but found nothing. His head seemed to clear a bit, overcome by pure curiosity. He tore off the wrpping on the package, unmindful of the noise. Several people on the floor groaned at the tearing of paper. He let the contents fall onto the table. The Best of Wonka Inc. Wonkas new album. A shiver went through his body as he tore off the plastic celophane.

One of the corpses in front of the TV was moving. He glanced at his friend, and then back down at the CD case. What if...

[b]Allen-[/b] "What if..." He said it barely audibly. Sweat had broken out on his brow. He clicked it open slowly, savoring the suspence. The CD glinted at him with an extremely flattering picture of Wonka on it. A small slip of golden foil fell from the inside cover. Allen jumped off of the chair, wracked his knee on the table, and fell to the ground with a mixed expression of pain and ecstacy on his face. He let out a loud whoop and several passed out bodies jerked.[/size]
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