wonkified

Sun Ra: Dude. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory is fucked up.

Sun Ra: Wonka keeps dropping acid.

Sun Ra: And that creepy janitor guy at the beginning? His janitor cart has a broom, a dust pan, an IV drip bag and a MEAT CLEAVER. I understand the IV bag (he looks a bit ashen and unhealthy) but a meat cleaver? What’s he do, kill little boys out late at night?

Sun Ra: And the whole story takes place in the 20th century, right? It’s got Volkswagens and computers and stuff. But Charlie’s family lives in 18th century poverty, where his mom needs to boil their clothing in large tubs to get it clean. Like she’s cooking up soup stock or something.

And his family says there are 100 billion other people in the world grappling for the golden ticket. Now, this either implies that the story takes place with 30th century overpopulation, or that every human being that has ever lived and died on this planet wants the golden ticket. I mean, we’re talking corpses here. Corpses that want in to Wonka’s factory. Why? Why would the dead want to get in a chocolate factory so bad? What is so damned interesting in there that it has roused the dead from eternal slumber?

Dave: Dude, you answered your last question with your second statement.

Dave: It’s not just chocolate they’re making in there, ya know.

Sun Ra: I see.

Sun Ra: Hence the dead’s infatuation.

Sun Ra: Everyone wants what he’s on.

Dave: Exactly. Aside from the narcotic effects, it is no doubt capable of effecting a messiah-class resurrection on any entrepeneurial member of the living dead who imbibes it.

Sun Ra: Oh my. What verbiage.