A/N: Bunny:Okay here is the second chapter. Written by me! Yay!
Bakura:Why doyou do this to people? You're writing sucks! Get a new hobby!
Ryou: Yeah! You're always so mean to me and Yugi! Stop writing! You're bad at it and you make us suffer!
Bunny: What the fuck! You guys aren't in this story! Get out! 'Throws random objects at them except Yugi' Yugi can stay hugging Yugi.Anyway onto the story! Ja ne!
D: Finally!
Disclaimer: I don't own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Never have, never will. If I did I'd be smegging rich! Also we are not racist, we just thought it would be funny to have a terrorist. Sorry if it offends anyone. (D: We'd never be racist! I'm the black mentallyinsanegirl!)
Chapter 2
"Well," Grandpa Jack began. "Mohammed Fadil wrote a letter to Mr Patty and asked him to build him a hide out, nuclear bombs and all, made entirely out of pastry."
Narrator:…Wah? I'm on? Oh. Right anyway. Change of scene people! Come on move it! Hurry up or I'm throwing you in the meat grinder! We okay? Great! Action!
"It will have 100 bombs and everything will be made of pastry filled with meat." Pillsy Patty told the Arab next to him. And true to his word the bricks were made of pastry and the cement holding them together was pastry. Even the walls and ceilings were made of pastry as well. So were the guns and bombs.
Chris interrupted the story. "What the fuck? How the hell does that work? This is a load of bullshit! You can't make bombs out of pastry." He yelled so loudly they could hear him in Uruguay.
Narrator: Hey shut up! It doesn't have to make sense! It's called a plot hole you moron! Now back to the damn story! I'm trying to sleep here!
"It is perfect, in every way." exclaimed Mohammed Fadil as he gazed around his strangely brown coloured hide out.
Mr Patty nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but it won't last long. You better start eating it right away before it explodes." He warned him, pulling out his cell phone to see if he had messages.
"What the hell? Since when do we have cell phones?" he asked puzzled.
Narrator: Plot hole…..
Mohammed Fadil laughed loudly. "Nonsense. I will not eat my hide out. I intend to blow up the White House from here." He said going over to the missile control panel. "Now get out of here before the authorities track you down." He instructed pointing to the exit.
Mr Patty shrugged, "Your funeral. Don't come crying to me when you explode." He warned walking out of the door.
But Mr. Patty was right of course. Soon after this there came a fucking hot day with a sun so hot you'd think Hell was a ski lodge. The terrorist was sitting at the control panel of his missile and plotting its course when the walls started to turn red. He laughed, tilting his head back in the process.
That's when a fire started in the corner. Slowly everything started to burst into flames and the roof came down in a mess of burning pastry. Mohammed Fadil ran out in time to watch his wonderful hide out explode in burst of flaming pastry and filling.
He immediately sent an urgent letter to Mr Patty asking him to build him another one, but Pillsy Pattywas experiencing problems of his own.
Narrator: Scene change people! Frank! Fix the lights, they're blinking again. Hurry up! Prop change! Move, move, move! My dick isn't going to suck itself! Uhhhhh, I mean……. ACTION!
The authorities, you see, had caught on to Mr. Patty's unsanitary working conditions and started sending in spies.
(Insert crappy sneaky music)
On the corner a man wearing only a pink thong waited for his subordinate to hand him a file. At the gate he spied him and waved him over. "Did you get the stuff?" he asked.
His associate looked at him strangely. "Dude, what the fuck?"
The man looked crestfallen, "I was trying to be inconspicuous." He grabbed the file and walked off with his shoulders slumped.
"That was the most fucked up thing I've ever seen." whispered the spy distractedly.
Soon the government sent out health inspectors to check his factory. When they saw the poor workers being shocked by shocker monkeys, they threatened to close down the factory until he made it more sanitary. However, something went terribly wrong and only one came out. The government never realised the information to the world but Mr Patty decided to close the factory forever.
"Because the government are screwballs, and I apparently can't use babies for sausage meat, I am closing the factory, forever. I'm sorry." He announced sadly, pushing a button to close the gates and depressingly walking off into his factory.
Narrator: Alright people! You know what to do. Change the props! Are we good? Ok…..action!
"But it didn't close forever. It's open right now." said Chris, looking perplexed. Obviously, the fact that maybe he didn't literally mean forever challenged the boy's very small mind. In fact, his brain was so small he could even understand why the factory closed in the first place.
"Well sometimes when grown ups say forever, what they really mean is a very long time." Mrs Schitt told him kindly, trying to make it seem like he wasn't a complete moron.
"For example," Grandpa Loder started, "It feels like I've eaten nothing but your mother's shit cooking, forever." Everyone laughed again except Mrs Schitt; who sobbed quietly, sick of everyone always making fun of her cooking. Just because she never washed her hands didn't mean her cooking actually tasted like shit.
"Now pops," scolded Mr Schit, "You know we can't afford soap." He said attempting to cheer his wife up.
Everyone completely ignored him and went on talking. "The factory did close, Chris. And it seemed like it was going to be closed forever." Continued Grandpa Jack. "But then, one day we saw purple smoke rising from the chimneys. The factory was back in business."
"Did you get your job back?" Chris asked, scratching he head like a chimpanzee.
"Does it fucking look like it, you stupid little shit! I'm lying in a fucking bed for fuck's sake! If I got my job back we wouldn't be living in this shit hole that looks like someone dropped a hunk of trash on a property made entirely of dirt!" he yelled, belting Chris over the head with a cane.
"But there must be people working there! What? Do you think there are some magical little people who make the food and never leave because Pillsy Patty is paying them in pies! Of course not! People have to work there." he exclaimed.
"Look, have you ever seen anyone going to that factory? Or coming out?" his grandma asked, fashioning a noose out of wool.
"No. The gate are always closed." He said tilting his head to the side and sticking out his tongue in a vain attempt to understand. He resembled a very stupid dog that has just been told he isn't allowed to shit on the rug anymore. "But then who operates all the machinery? Fish?"
"No body knows, Chris. It certainly isa mystery." Mrs Schit explained calmly.
"Well then, why doesn't anyone ask Mr Patty?" he said, narrowing his eyes trying to concentrate on the information being presented to him.
"No body sees him anymore. After he found out the Government wouldcomeafterhim if he ever left his factory he stopped coming out. The only thing that comes out of that factory is the pies, already packed an addressed." He paused looking saddened. "I'd give anything in the world to just one more time, get a job at that high paying factory." He said wistfully.
"Well you won't. Because you can't. No one can. It's a mystery who's working there and it will always be a mystery." grumbled Grandpa Loder. "That pile of shit factory you made is the closest any of us will ever get."
Mrs. Schit sighed and stood. "Okay Chris. I think it's time you went to bed and let your grandparents sleep." she instructed, picking up all the bowls and putting them in the sink so she could wash them later. Although, because her hands were so dirty it didn't really make a difference.
Chris nodded and gave each of his grandparent's a kiss on the cheek saying goodnight.
When he got to Grandma Pieca he was pulled into a big hug that smelt like rotting fish. "Nothing's impossible Chris...except maybe you passing your history test." She whispered in his ear. He smiled glumly and pulled away from her, walking to the back door and throwing it open.
Narrator: You see Chris's family was so poor they only had 1 room, so Chris had to sleep in the backyard in a tent. Actually it wasn't really a tent. Just a sheet slung over a clothes line.
Chris crawled into his camp out bed and stared at the snow drifting outside of his makeshift tent and let it lull him to sleep.
Narrator: And little did he know that the impossible had indeed been set in motion that night. Except him passing his history test, which he did indeed fail...PSYCHE!
TBC…..
A/N: Bunny: not my best, but screw it! I have to go somewhere and I'm not in the mood to write. Besides there was nothing more to write anyway.
D: Bunny I just read it! You almost killed me you little bitch! I was laughing, running away from the computer and burying my head in my pillow to stop my parents from hearing me laugh so loud! lmao I was crying from all that laughter! Great job! You make mine sound like a story made by a preschooler! lol
