Chapter 4

Of Plotholes and Oompa Loompas

"They misunderestimated me."

~ George W. Bush

Mary Sue was dead.

The expression on her face was a grimace of hate and pain.

The Big Friendly Walrus didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He was too exhausted to talk.

Mary Sue's body began to fade away. Her body was becoming lighter and more transparent with each passing second. A blue hue surrounded her body. Then the large bulge in the dress where her impossibly large breasts fell back. There was nothing left but her dress.

The Big Friendly Walrus looked down. There was something gold shining from the collar. With trembling flippers he reached out and picked it up. The key to escape this place!

"Wait a second." He said. "Wasn't the key hidden by that wolf? And wasn't it supposed to bring me to this castle that I am standing in?"

"It is a plothole!" Said an overweight man besides him. He wore nothing but underpants and a long red cape. His hair was a fine pink.

"Who are you?" The BFW said.

"I am the Plot Hole Man!" He cried. "Hit it boys!"

Several midgets with green hair began swarming the room.

""Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do

Listen to us and what we say to you!" They sang in unison.

"Why is Briar Cudgeon alive and well,

when he got killed in a place that's not Taco Bell?

It is a plot hole!

Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da!

If you are wise you will listen to us!"

The Dark Man, the Little Mean Walnut and Shannon looked inside.

"Look at those cute lil' buggers!" Said the Dark Man.

"Are they single?" Wondered Shannon.

"Why did Harry's dad come out Voldemort's wand first?

When it went in reverse order and he was the first to burst?

It is a plothole!

"Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-do!

If you are wise you will listen to us!

Many times writers would rather sit on their ass,

Rather than editing their stories quick and fast!

Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-dee-da!

If you are wise you will listen to us!"

The Big Friendly Walrus looked at it. "Going home so easy...it just doesn't seem right."

The Plot Hole Man thought for a bit. "Okay, instead of going home the key will bring you to a random place. Not only will this lengthen the story but also it will give you many adventures while you painstakingly try to get home. It will also give the author a bigger ego because of all the praise he's been getting, because most of the reviews before were negative and resorted to threatening the author with sharp weapons. That alright with you?"

The Walrus looked at his friends. "Uh-- sure."

The Plot Hole man handed him the key. "Enjoy!"

The Dark Man, Little Mean Walnut and Shannon climbed inside the window.

"Well, what is it?" Asked the Little Mean Walnut.

"Weren't you peeking your heads in?"

"Yes, but please recap it for those at home who couldn't understand what the Plot Hole Man said."

"Well, if I insert this key into thin air, then it'll transport us to a random place."

"Should we do it, sir?" Asked the Little Mean Walnut. "After all, wouldn't it be more safe to ask for an exit than use a key from a dead fictional girl with breasts the size of basketballs based on the help from an overweight man with pink hair?"

"Who cares? After all, 'danger' is my middle name!"

"I thought it was 'Friendly'."

"Well, ah, um...lets just go."

The Big Friendly Walrus took out a key and hooked it into thin air. It began to turn. A hole in the air opened, and the group climbed in. The hole then vanished.

The only people in the room were the Plot Hole man and his Oompa Loompas.

The door crashed open and a foul smelling man with a potbelly and purple hat came in. His shirt was stained with sweat. He had a thin line of whiskers around his lower jaw. His breath stank of cheap alcohol.

This was the true Willy Wonka, not a jolly old man nor the cartoon character whose namesake had sold millions of cavity making sweets to little boys and little girls all over the world.

From his pants, he pulled out a long rifle. He cocked it and shot the Plot Hole Man.

BLAM!

Blood showered the spawn of Roald Dahl in thick ropes.

The Oompa Loompas began screaming frantically in their foreign language.

"Damn sons of bitches." He growled. "Runnin' away from yer master! You work for me! YOU BELONG TO ME! Did you think Charlie exiling me from the factory would keep me away from him? I had worked hard to gain power, and something as silly as the love of his dead grandpa would save him?"

An Oompa Loompa crawled towards him.

"Please, forgive us master! Forgive us all!"

The purple-clothed figure pulled out a candy wand.

"Crucio!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The Oompa Loompa writhed on the ground in agony.

"The Candy Man doesn't forgive...nor does he forget."

Willy Wonka walked around the circle of huddling midgets.

"Foolish, foolish people. Being the workers of a great candy factory or the muses of a man singing about plot holes in a deranged homicidal maniac who craves for attention's story!"

"Y-you've been reading Blue Yeti's psychological handbook haven't you?" Asked an Oompa Loompa.

"What if I did?" Breathed Wonka, his alcohol-breath staining the fresh air.

He walked back. "However, if you prove yourselves worthy of my power then you shall be welcomed into my open arms again. Kill Charlie Bucket!"

With a roar, he grabbed a skeletal young boy with a mop of dirty blond hair and threw him onto the floor. "KILL HIM WHO DARES DEFY THE CULT OF WONKA!"

"Yes, oh mighty lord of Artificial Sweeteners!"

"Please!" Spared the boy on the ground. "Spare me!"

"KILL HIM!" Screeched Willy Wonka.

The Oompa Loompas descended upon Charlie. "NOOOOOOOO!" Howled Charlie. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

Willy Wonka laughed and laughed.

The Big Friendly Walrus and his crew had found themselves in the middle of a jungle. The sounds of birds screeching and monkeys using bananas as sex toys filled the air.

Using his flipper, the Walrus cut through the branches to try finding some signs, ANY signs, of civilization at all.

"I don't get it." Asked Shannon, putting on her nifty signed jacket. "What are we supposed to find?"

"Not find." Said the Walrus. "Found."

In front of the group was a large monument of Alan Rickman.

In front of it scrawled in the stone was

'All Hail the Great Rickman!

~Gumlick, 7/22'

"Oh...my God." Muttered the Big Friendly Walrus. "We're in Rickmaniac territory."