Don't you short bastards look at me like that.
Yes, that's Gloop's mom, and yes, she does seem to be taking one of those naps you don't wake up from. She's on top of the others. They're all in the vat -- four industrial accident victims, and four witnesses who needed extra ventilation. And you know why? Because Willy Lawrence Wonka cleans up his goddamn messes.
And just in case it's not clear to you people... I don't mind topping the pile with a couple green-haired freaks who decided they needed consciences, all of a sudden. We understand each other? You three are all shop foremen, and you know what goes on here. You're problem solvers. And if you listen to me, and do exactly what I tell you, you're going to be in Dubai soon, rolling around on piles of fucking money with little orange hookers. Or... you can find yourselves a comfy spot down there, because I've just killed four people, and I'm a crazy SOB in a purple jacket holding a gun.
No Dale, we couldn't have just fixed Augustus in the Fudge Room. You die when you get sucked into one of those pipes. Or when you eat an untested food additive that makes you swell up and turn purple. They all just died, okay? I'm sorry to take all the magical whimsy out of this thing for you, but that's how it is. We don't have a juicing machine somewhere for naughty little girls! I just said that to get her dad down here.
Okay, then. Listen close: We have eight bodies in a stainless steel nougat vat. We have a factory filled with undocumented workers, and violations of every labor, safety, and environmental regulation the British government has ever created. And when they investigate this place, they're going to create a few more, believe me.
But you know who owns this deathtrap, as of five minutes ago? A lucky little boy and his grandfather. I don't exist on paper. I mean, anywhere. Some grainy CCTV footage, some village gossip. That's it. All the documentation leads right to Charlie Bucket, and it stops. By this time tomorrow they won't even have bodies -- because we're going to truck the vat out of here. Cops will be crawling over Bucket's family looking for answers, and we will be taking a little trip to Switzerland where a nice chunk of money is waiting for us, because this place is leveraged up to the balls. And someone's loyal little helpers are going to find themselves the richest sons of bitches who ever escaped Loompa-Land.
Never mind where we're going to put the bodies. I got a guy. That's all you need to know. Now, get your gloves on and start pouring that lime. We'll cap it with two feet of concrete, and crack open some Scotch and Scrumdidlyumptious Bars when we're done.
We're in this together now. You remember that.
Creation as a Spiritual Act - After some wait, I got Carmine Rocco Linsalata’s Smollett’s Hoax. It it an academic treatise from the 1950s by a professor at Stanford. And it is about —...