"Can it, you nit!"

"That's telling that bratty little bugger!"

"Dad!" But Mrs. Bucket lowered her head, because she secretly agreed.

"Go, Violet! Veruca may want an Oompa-Loompa, but I doubt an Oompa-Loompa wants Veruca." Willy was leaning forwards with fervor, and as he spoke, the scene changed. His fervor only increased. "Stop, Augustus! Stop Augustus!"

"Don't worry, he can't drink it all."

"You don't get this, do you?" said Willy, with a glare at Grandpa Joe.

Grandpa Joe had had about enough from this eccentric genius, but kept his voice conciliatory. "I do get it, Mr. Wonka. I'm beginning to wonder if you do. For the last time, that's not me."

"Oh; yeah; I'm sorry." Willy scrunched his face into a look of remorse. "I'm just not happy about what's gonna happen next."

What happened next was what they expected would happen next, but not the way any one expected it to happen. Augustus, quietly sitting on a small mound near the river, silently eating candy he'd gathered like a Heaven sent harvest, had almost been forgotten. Now he was crouched beside the river, first kneeling on one knee, and then kneeling on both, in as stable a position as one could ever hope to assume. He was scooping ostensibly chocolate into his mouth with the regularity of a metronome, and like a metronome, so set was he, that he could have continued that way all day.

Hearing Mr. Wilder's plea for Augustus to stop his scooping, his mother hastened to join him.

"She'll stop him," said Mrs. Bucket.

"Augustus, sweetheart, save some room for later."

"Has anyone noticed, that's all she ever tells him? To save some room for later," observed Mrs. Bucket, still waiting for Mrs. Gloop to do her parental duty. "And she's standing right next to him. Why doesn't she grab a handful of his collar? Pull him back; make him stop."

"Because then he wouldn't fall in?" laughed Charlie.

Mr. Wilder was rushing forwards, and Mr. Wonka leapt out of his chair. "Don't do THAT!" he cried to the screen, raising his glass contained Nerds. "They'll," as Augustus went head first into the drink he'd been drinking, "blame you!"

Mr. Bucket could see Mr. Wonka's point, but it didn't look like Mr. Wilder had touched the boy. Still, the sound of someone rushing up behind him could have sent Augustus forwards, and that would pretty much be the same thing. "I don't think Augustus lost his balance. It looked to me like he dove right in."

"Silly man," said Willy, sinking back into his seat, "to send himself to the scene of the soaking. At least I had the sense to be on the other side of the river."

"Along with all the rest of us," agreed Charlie, watching himself reach for Augustus with an all-day sucker. "Do you think the added sugar of that lollipop I have in my hands would adversely affect the sweetness ratio of the chocolate?"

Mrs. Bucket, listening to the question, thought how like Mr. Wonka Charlie was becoming.

"Doesn't matter, the entire batch is a goner," groaned Willy. "Hey! Maybe this man is onto something! Maybe, he knew Gloop would get into the glop, so he made glop on the day for the Gloop to get into. That would explain the lack of quality."

"And pretty much condemn you, Willy, dear," said Mrs. Bucket, with a coy bat of her eyelashes. "Did you plan these things?"

"I certainly didn't—I'm an optimist—but that's not to say that he didn't. He's not me."

The calamity's chaos continued, and Willy laughed at Wilder's quips, particularly the one having to do with when it might be a good time to learn to swim.

"Why is that so funny?" asked George.

Willy hit pause. "Because," Willy drew out the 'because' as if the rest of what he were going to say was painful for him, but taking a deep breath, he went ahead. "I am mixing chocolate with my river, not dredging a navigable channel to the sea. At its deepest point, near the base of the falls, it is three feet deep only, and it's a good deal less than that everywhere else. Have you not noticed that my yacht has a flat bottom? Because a flat bottom lessens its draft; because what it floats upon is shallow. All anyone over the age of five has to do to save themselves, should they fall into my river, is to stand up."

"Panic," said Mr. Bucket.

"There is that," agreed Willy, pushing play.

The standing pipe picked up its prey, and the scene continued to play out. Speculation as to when the plug would pop proliferated, with Mr. Wilder rounding it off. "The suspense is terrible. I hope it'll last."

With knit brows, Willy hit pause. "That's another quote. He's been doing that all along. If there's one thing I'm not enjoying about this version of me, and it's not the only thing, it's that he can't seem to speak for himself.

"So, since he insists on borrowing, shall we have some fun? Everyone take out your pencils and paper again. Question three: Where does that quote come from?" A preponderance of blank faces stared back at him, with others looking away. Willy got to his feet, to survey the room more easily. "Really, I'm serious. If I-up-there can't be original, something I pride myself on, at least I-down-here can give credit. We all read in this Factory. Let that shine. Where's it from?"

An Oompa-Loompa seated near the control panel coughed. Willy, turning to the sound, raised a brow. "The Importance of Being Earnest," she said, "by Oscar Wilde."

"Exactly so," said Willy, giving her a bow. "Fifty cacao beans to you for getting it right. Fifty cacao beans to anyone who gets the next one right, because there's no way there's not gonna be a next one."

With a twirl of his frock coat Willy sat down and pressed play, silencing the ensuing buzz of excitement at his announcement. Sopping, stopper Augustus obligingly shot up the pipe, and Willy sat back, enjoying the repartee between his not-self and Mrs. Gloop. At the whistle, Mrs. Bucket stirred.

"I've never seen you with a whistle."

"I had one once," said Willy. "But I was forever misplacing it. I decided that was because I didn't like it. Ululating is so much more fun, and I never misplace my tongue."

"Nil desperandum…"

"Odes, Horace!" came a shout from the back.

"Pay the winner," said Willy, with Doris making a note of who it was.

"…dear lady. Across the desert lies the promised land…"

"The Bible!" crowed Mrs. Bucket.

"Did you want that in cacao beans?" laughed Willy.

"I want fifty minutes of your time. Join us for dinner tomorrow."

The Loompa-Oompas had started to sing, and Willy, without answering, made much of listening to that. Shortly after the song began, the picture shrank, and the lyrics rippled and rolled across the screen in cartoon form.

George rolled his eyes. "How can the people in the factory up there see these graphics?"

"They can't," said Willy, dubiously. "I guess they think the audience can't follow this."

"This?" said Eshle, his mouth turned down in a frown.

"It rhymes," offered Willy, with a smile that was all teeth, and no smile.

The song played on, but the Oompa-Loompas weren't having it. Like electrons ordered by a magnetic field, they were on their feet, flowing together into lines for Willy and the Buckets to see, swaying and singing to their own, a cappella music.

"Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop!
The great big greedy nincompoop!
Augustus Gloop! So big and vile
So greedy, foul, and infantile"

"It hardly seems fair," said Willy, nevertheless beaming with pride for his dear, talented, Oompa-Loompas, as rather than listen to the chant from the other tribe, they were reprising their own song. "This Augustus has been one of the best behaved children in the group. It's true he chomps away on anything he can get his hands on with the dedication of a locust decimating a leaf, but his heart is in it, all his concentration is in it, and he goes about it so neatly! He's far from foul, or even infantile."

"Come on we cried,
The time is ripe,
To send him shooting up the pipe…"

"Too late," said George. "He already did that."

The ditty on-screen ended, and the Oompa-Loompas let the song trail off. Willy applauded, the leather of his gloves muting the sound. The Oompa-Loompas sent glances to each other like ricochets, with a smattering of hand motions thrown in. They began to chant, and Willy, more than ever convinced they were more that a touch telepathic, pressed pause.

"Oompa-Loompa doompadee doo
How can we let a chant like that through?
Oompa-Loompa doompadah dee
That's not a song meeting our quality"

With out-stretched arms, they brought the listeners' attention to an Oompa-Loompa near the television set. Alone, he stepped forwards and sang, in the lowest of low bases:

"We don't like the sound of it."

He stepped back, the rest of the Oompa-Loompas nodded, and took up the chant once more.

"Oompa-Loompa doompadee dar
If you're inventive you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Oompa-Loompa doompadee do."

The magnetic field broke apart, and the electron like Oompa-Loompas flowed back to their original places. Eshle, having not left his place, took note of Willy twisting his head and shoulders around to see him, and not missing Willy's raised brow, answered. "What?" Eshle said. "We liked the last part. We do live in happiness here."

"Good to know," said Willy, that warm feeling he liked so much filling him. "Shall we continue?"

"By all means," said Eshle.

Willy faced forwards, and pressed play.


Quoted material in italics are direct quotes from the 1971 and 2005 films. I still do not own either of anything of the Chocolate Factories ... wait; strike that, reverse it ... and there is no copyright infringement intended.

Thank you Squirrela; Linkwonka88; and mattTheWriter072 for your thoughtful reviews and the warm feeling that is filling me for having received them. Thank you.