Wonka Nightmare!

Picture this: the entire dream is animated in Tim Burton style--dreary colors, bleak, twisted houses begging for a soul...you get the picture. The setting is Victorian London, and I (animated as well with a face like Jane from Disney's Tarzan) am a governness for an orphanage. I'm standing in the dining room preparing to eat the meager lunch set before me, when one of the girls lets out a stifled shriek. The cook, a robust woman with grey straggly hair, one glass eye, and missing teeth, runs out of the kitchen screaming: "I told ya unce if I told ya twice--Rats are a good source of protein." Only, it's not a rat that causes the little waif to cry from her large Anime eyes. Inside her bologna sandwich is a gleaming piece of gold. The cook yells: "Wellahlbebuggered, you won the golden ticket, 'aven't ya?" The little girl with claylike head too big for her skeletal body wipes chocolate strands of hair out of her eyes and whispers: "Yes." I won't bore you with the rest of the dialogue, but suffice it to say that the adult she picks to go on a tour of the Oscar Mayer plant, is me. We arrive at the gates of the meat packing monstrosity, and Willy stands there, the portrait of gluttony--balding head, a cleaver stained with blood, white undershirt exposing a teeming gut. Then we go into the plant. It was awful, like the animated version of The Jungle. What in the hell got into me, I'll never know.