February 2, 2007

Nestlé USA

ATTN: Mr. William Buford Wonka

Office of Consumer Services

PO Box 2178

Wilkes-Barre, PA 18703

Dear Mr. Wonka,

I happened to be walking beside your factory the other day when I saw a shiny gold wrapper on the ground. “No,” I said to myself. “It couldn’t be.” And it wasn’t a Golden Ticket, as I had anticipated. Nevertheless, I saw it as a prime opportunity to visit the factory, even if it was just somebody’s discarded wrapper. Though the security personnel wouldn’t let me take a personal tour, I managed to divert their attention by shouting “Look! A distraction!” and I slipped in through the double doors.

Golden Ticket or not, I was in. Oh, the amazing amazements! The wondrous wonders! The sudden, unnecessary propensity towards Dr. Seuss-like phrases! As I ventured further into the depths of the chocolate-works, I realized that the factory is exactly like I imagined it to be, complete with that giant forest-like room that contains edible plants that everyone takes bites from. (Isn’t that unsanitary? And speaking of things unhygienic in nature, I passed by the lickable wallpaper without so much as a fleeting desire to place my tongue upon its germ-covered surface. Besides, the idea of a “snozberry” to me is about as appealing as head lice.) Anyway, I started eating a sugary mushroom, and it sure was scrumdiddlyumptious! Perhaps the only thing that could have enhanced my experience is an Everlasting Gobstopper. I was unable to locate one on my private tour, and the ones you sell in retail stores tend to last, say, five minutes. (Yet the box still says “everlasting.” And also, why do you sell Chewy Everlasting Gobstoppers? Isn’t that just gum?)

But back to the point: eventually, I had eaten my share of weird-looking candy plants, and it was time to wash it all down! That chocolate river you have is quite mesmerizing. Like Narcissus, I stared at my reflection to no end. In fact, I was so entranced by the flow of cocoa that I fell in. I’m no swimmer, you see, so I took to flapping my arms haphazardly and hoping that I was relatively buoyant. Unfortunately, I soon found myself inhaling liquid chocolate by the bucketful until I was trapped in a giant pump of some sort. I vaguely recall this happening to a character in an old movie, but I may be mistaken. (To this day, I still burp mocha bubbles on occasion.)

I was very fortunate that day to be rescued by a troupe of green-haired midgets from Chernobyl, who sang some silly songs and released me from the pump. But I am displeased with your absence that day, Mr. Wonka: if you had been present in the factory, you would have prevented me from falling into the chocolate river. Therefore, please consider your actions and take into account the safety of future patrons of your factory.

Sincerely,

Kevin Dickinson

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