By Alex Rendon
By C. Townsend Rizzo
By Lee Zimmerman
By Liz Tracy
By Liz Tracy
By Liz Tracy
By Matt Preira
By Victor Gonzalez
R. Kelly, double-entendre artist with a taste for young things and water sports. Chances:Nasty. Known risks:For an auteur so quick with a Baretta, accidents are known to happen. Which means the world might be spared "Trapped in the Closet" parts 13-24. Jesse Hughey
From The Desk Of Willy Wonka
I address you in a public forum, but I nurse a private wound. Indeed, so grievous is my wound that once again, I have stilled the rivers of fudge and shuttered my factory. I can do nothing now but lie in bed in utter darkness and await death, my basic needs attended to by a single Oompa Loompa, who is either the most loyal of my beloved employees or the only survivor of the cannibalism that spread among his people after I ceased their ration of cocoa beans. I do not know, and since your brutal betrayal, I no longer care.
The betrayal to which I refer is, of course, your hit single, "Laffy Taffy." Now, I admit that when your representatives approached me about this project, I was excited. It is no secret that the Laffy Taffy brand has suffered recently. I myself don't understood why. Charlie says that Laffy Taffy has lost its edge, that children think the jokes inside the wrappers "lame." But how can you not guffaw at "Where did the kittens go on the class trip? To the meow-seum"? I want to chuckle now, but I fear that the laughter would further bruise my battered soul.
I digress. I was excited, and when Charlie and I flew to Atlanta to see you perform what your representatives promised was the final version of "Laffy Taffy," I couldn't have been more pleased! The beat was marvelously phat, the lyrics delightful. I was particularly touched by this couplet: "Wonka, D4L, we so thick/Hershey's orphans can suck our dicks." You were even so kind, seeing how jet-lagged I was, to let Charlie spend the evening with you. I can't fathom how Atlanta could compare to the wonders of my factory, but Charlie hasn't stopped smiling since.
After all of this, then, imagine my shock when I heard "Laffy Taffy" on the radio. "Girls call me Jolly Rancher/cuz I stay so hard." Jolly Rancher? Jolly Rancher! A Hershey product! My spirit crumbled like Halloween Sweettarts forgotten in a coat pocket. And Charlie I fear that your perfidy has made him physically ill; he certainly has been spending much time in the bathroom lately. Perhaps, with your first royalties check, you can buy yourself a conscience.
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