Willy Wonka (and Conor McGregor and Dana White and Jon Jones, and a few others) and the Chocolate Factory
25/12/2023 16:00
We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.
The quote is from an ode by Arthur O'Shaughnessy, and it's quoted by Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka in the 1971 classic film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
What does this have to do with fighting? Absolutely nothing. But I'll get to that in a bit.
This month, Wonka arrived in theaters worldwide. Starring Timothée Chalamet as the titular character. The film is a prequel, showing the origins of Wonka in his rise to global chocolatier sensation. I have seen the film, and I can say it's quite good—a family-friendly musical that is basically a cross between Paddington and Sweeney Todd—that being said, it's also a film that no one asked for, and whose target audience is ... I honestly don't know. Adults with small children who loved the original?
I love Willy Wonka. Roald Dahl was my favorite author growing up, and the original movie (even though Dahl disowned it) was my favorite film. But when this was first announced, my immediate thought was not, "Awesome! Can't wait!" It was, "Who is this for?" Even after seeing it, I'm still not sure I understand its purpose.
Which brings me, in a roundabout fashion, to the fighting.
In light of what appears to be strictly a vanity project with no real audience to speak of, I decided to do the same, paying homage to one of the seminal pieces of literature in my life (and to the modern-day film inspired by it), by loosely connecting it to MMA, in a piece of writing that no one ever asked for.
If you read my MMA Survivor piece, you know what's about to happen — things are going to get weird.
The premise is simple: In the novel Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka, a candy baron known for his fantastical creations and his reclusive tendencies, decides to open up his notoriously secretive factory to five children and their families for a tour. The purpose of this visit is, at least on its face, to choose one child from among them to serve as his heir; but because this is a parable about the churlish tendencies of children who are poorly parented, what ensues is a series of calamities enacted upon those children and their parents, all in the service of teaching lessons. In short, Wonka is a sort of amalgamation of Dr. Moreau and Jigsaw, but instead of being a horror movie villain, he's the hero — and sanitized for a children's book from the 1960s.
It's grim, it kicks ass, and it teaches valuable lessons about morality. I'm going to attempt to do the same with several significant MMA personalities. Welcome to myworld of pure imagination. Buckle up.
Charlie Bucket looks up from his newspaper, slowly blinking the tired from his eyes. He is old. Not so old as Grandpa Joe was all those many years ago, but still, his knees creak when he gets up, and whenever he does cough, which is seldom, it lasts a little too long.
He turns the page of his paper and ponders quietly for a moment before folding the whole thing neatly, taking an extra moment to pinch the crease, then sets the periodical down in front of him.
"Hmm. Yes, I believe it's time."
You see, Charlie Bucket is not just some old man reading a newspaper. In fact, he is perhaps the most marvelous old man that has ever read a newspaper, and he is so marvelous because he spends so little of his time doing just that. Instead, Charlie Bucket fills his days by creating the most spectacular and astonishing confectionary creations that the world has ever seen, and those creations in turn fill the newspapers with wondrous stories to share around the world.
Of course, you know all this because you have read Charlie's story. How a poor boy, pure of heart, was plucked by fate and entrusted with safekeeping the legacy and lineage of the most fantastical man to ever sit beneath a top hat: Mr. Willy Wonka!
Well, Mr. Wonka is no longer around, and in his absence, Charlie has done an admirable job of filling his prodigious shoes. The Wonka factory is more successful than ever, the Oompa Loompas are thriving, and while Charlie did have to navigate matters of federal oversight, safety regulations, and labor practice issues as the factory moved into the 21st century, ultimately, everything got sorted out. By any metric, things are going well.
Except now, Charlie finds himself in the same position his mentor did sixty years ago: He needs an heir. Fortunately, he has a plan.
While Charlie Bucket never found time to take up chess or start a family during his six decades as a chocolatier, he did develop one peculiar hobby: MMA.
It's hard to say why he fell in love with the sport, and if you ask Charlie himself, he probably couldn't tell you either. Perhaps it's because the rest of his life is so devoid of conflict that brutal and direct fighting draws his eye? Who can say? But what I can say is that Charlie has never missed a fight. Though he's not big on TV, Charlie had several installed in the Inventing Room, so on Saturday nights he can work while the fights are on. (It was during one of these sessions that he got the idea for Flavored Mouthguards, so athletes wouldn't have to taste the blood in their mouths — a bestseller!)
Charlie has also attended several fights. Remember the Just Bleed Guy? Charlie is a few rows behind him, you can just catch a glimpse if you look closely. Or when Shogun slipped on that skateboard and got knocked out by Ovince Saint Preux? That was Charlie's.
And so, in need of finding someone to pass down his great candy-making secrets to, Charlie has decided to do something he's done many times before: Do as Willy would do, but different.
Instead of putting Golden Tickets in candy bars for all to find, Charlie had five tickets made and delivered in the greatest of secrecy to five of the most famous people in combat sports.
"Does this make any sense at all?" Charlie mused as he finished the last of the tickets. "No, probably not. But then again, neither did Willy's grand plan, and it all worked out in the end. And if nothing else, since it's all fight folk, we know they they're tough, and at least a little bit crazy, and truly, that's the most important thing to making stuff work around here."
The sun was shining brightly on the big day. The air was crisp and cold, and a light wind pricked the cheeks of those standing outside the gate, waiting for Charlie Bucket to admit them. Would he arrive in a top hat and tails like Willy Wonka did?
Francis Ngannou didn't know, but he secretly hoped Mr. Bucket would. After all, he may not be Wonka, but Mr. Bucket was still keeping the spirit alive.
As he waited, Francis looked around. It was safe to say this was not his favorite collection of companions for a guided tour.
Dana White stood to the front of the group, head gleaming with the reflection of the sun, periodically glaring daggers back at Francis over his hunched shoulders.
Conor McGregor stood next to Dana, chatting animatedly and beckoning the gates to be opened. He wore a fur coat and no shirt, preening despite the near-freezing temperatures.
On the other side of Dana, Colby Covington stood pointedly, alternating abrasive statements between Dana and Conor, saying he would be the one to win the grand prize.
And lastly there was Jon Jones. He greeted Francis warmly enough, but then adopted an aggressive posture and puffed himself up to seem larger as he stood next to Francis, eyeing him occasionally from the side.
All of this felt a bit much, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A look inside the fabled Wonka Factory, a chance to meet the mysterious Oompa Loompas, and a shot to be the next person to take the hallowed reins of one of the greatest companies on Earth? It was too good to pass up.
Suddenly, a church bell chimed in the distance, and the enormous metal gates creaked and swung inward. And as they opened, there stood Charlie Bucket.
Charlie was wearing bottle-green trousers, a plum-colored velvet tail coat, and a large black top hat perched jauntily upon his head. It was the exact outfit Willy wore when he opened his factory gates to Charlie, so it felt appropriate to do the same for his own would-be heir.
"Greetings to you all, and thank you so very much for joining me! I know we are going to have such a splendid good time! Quick, hurry yourselves in out of this terrible cold, and we can start the tour at once!"
The group rushed inside, with Conor nearly skipping.
"That's a very nice cane you've got there, Mr. Bucket," Conor remarked. "I have one myself. One of a kind. Made for me by Tom Ford, personally. Broke my leg recently, you know. Shattered into dust really. Only just now getting back from it. I'm lucky. Most normal men would never be the same. But we Irish, we're made of sterner stuff!"
"Yes, I saw that," Charlie replied. "Terrible outcome. Much worse than when Dustin Poirier knocked you out cold. I do hope you're feeling good enough for this tour, as we'll be walking quite a bit. If you need my cane, please just let me know!"
Charlie hurried off down the main corridor, and the party followed. For a small man clearly getting on in years, Charlie moved with a swiftness and surety of someone much younger.
"Please do hurry! We have a great deal to see, and not nearly enough time to see it all," he said as he sped down another corridor, and then another, noting to the group that they were heading deeper and deeper underground, to the heart of the factory.
Finally, after countless turns, and with all the chill flushed from the group's bones, thanks to the long journey, Charlie stood in front of a great metal door, with large letters on it that read "THE CHOCOLATE ROOM."
Like Willy did for him on his first trip to the factory 60 years before, Charlie opened the door and swept his guests into the Chocolate Room, a smile dancing at the corners of his mouth as he watched their amazement.
An idyllic valley lay before them, with meadows of the most vibrant green, flowers that sparkled like starlight, and between it all a flowing river of chocolate, complete with the legendary waterfall that churns the glorious sweetness. And of course as they all knew from the stories, everything before them was edible. Even Conor sat in stunned silence as they all took in the view, though he was the first to break the spell.
"Alright, where's this boat? I love boats, you know. Have quite a few myself. A grand mega-yacht I sail to Monaco in and a Lamborghini speedboat I jet around Ibiza with, just to name a few. But I hear you have a candy boat of some kind. Let me see it!"
Ever the gracious host, Charlie nodded along to Conor and promptly escorted the group through the meadow down to the riverbank where the S.S. Wonkatania sat with chocolate lapping up against her fantastic pink hull.
"Mr. Wonka's private yacht!" Charlie explained. "Crafted by hollowing out an enormous boiled hard candy, this was Mr. Wonka's favorite form of travel and became quite the sensation after our trip to the factory that first time. People heard stories and wanted one of their own, of course! Now we do custom orders, but only for the most exclusive of clientele. We'd be far too busy otherwise."
And as Charlie said that, the group noticed another candy ship off just behind the Wonkatania. While Mr. Wonka's yacht was fashioned after a Viking longship, this was a majestic schooner, still brilliantly pink but with dazzling white sails that looked as if they were made from cotton candy.
"Now this," Charlie continued, "is a custom order for Prince Pondicherry the Second. His father is an old friend of Mr. Wonka's and we've been working on this for a little over two years, trying to get everything just right."
Conor was barely listening. He was enraptured by the fantastic ship, running his hand over the glassy hull and picturing the scene he would cause showing up to the next Monaco Grand Prix in this thing.
"I must have this boat! Name your price, Mr. Bucket!"
"I'm dreadfully sorry but that simply cannot be accommodated," Charlie responded. "Mr. Pondicherry will be taking delivery of his vessel within a fortnight, at which point we will begin crafting the next order — a grand pontoon boat for the Sultan of Brunei!
"I'd be happy to add you to the waitlist for custom orders though! We can have something crafted and set for delivery by —"
Charlie pulled out a small moleskin notebook from his breast pocket and thumbed through a few pages, pausing for a moment when he reached the desired one.
"— July of 2059!"
"What?!" shouted Conor. "That's outrageous! Do you know who I am?! I'm Conor McGregor! There's nothing I cannot have!"
"Except a win over Khabib Nurmagomedov," Francis said, laughing in the background.
But Conor could not hear him, so loud was his fury.
"I don't know who this Pondicherry is but he's not me and so he doesn't matter! I'm going to take that boat right now!"
And before anyone could move, Conor was off, making a mad dash towards the grand schooner, clambering on board, and then casting off down the chocolate river.
"Look at me! 'The Notorious' does it again! Blackbeard got nuttin' on me! And I apologize to none of yas! Ha ha ha!"
But while he was cackling in triumph, what Conor didn't realize is that while things started off well, the ship was simply too large for him. A schooner is not a boat that can be sailed by one man alone, and in the absence of a crew to guide her properly, this ship was starting to pick up speed as it headed towards the dark tunnel at the end of the room.
"What is happening? No. No, no, no. I've lost control! I've lost control!!!!!!"
Conor shrieked as the mighty vessel slammed abruptly into the side of the tunnel. Shards of hard candy flew everywhere, the vessel jerked violently and McGregor was tossed from the helm into the murky brown chocolate. He surfaced but only for a moment as the current shunted him down the tunnel into the darkness beyond.
"NOOOOOOoooooo......"
The remainder of the group stood for a moment in stunned silence before Charlie piped up: "Not to worry, not to worry. The pipes are all back here so Conor won't be sucked into any of the rooms and turned into candy. No, he's just in for quite a long ride. The chocolate river runs about 8 miles before it ends up right back here at the waterfall. We'll have some Oompa Loompas put up a net above the waterfall to catch him before he gets churned up by the rocks."
This did little to lighten the mood, and the group still looked a bit bemused when suddenly, from across the river bank, they heard the sound of singing, and were thus introduced at last to the mysterious Oompa Loompas.
Ooompa Loompadoompadee do
I've got a perfect puzzle for you
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me!
What do you get when you live by your id
Running around like a bratty old kid
What do you get when you lose all your sense
How will you deal with con-se-quence?
Probably not all that well!
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dah
If you're not spoiled then you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Ooompa Loompadoompadee do!
"Oh, well look at that!" cried Charlie. "You've just heard your first Oompa Loompa original. You really are getting the full experience today. Wonderful! Just wonderful! I hope you all enjoyed it and maybe even learned a thing or two. The Oompa Loompas are very wise after all."
With Conor now careening down a chocolate river ever deeper into the bowels of the factory, and the four remaining guests still looking somewhat unsure of themselves, Charlie decided that a pick-me-up was called for.
"Come along now, everyone!" Charlie called to the group as he sped across the meadow to an enormous weeping chocolate-covered cherry tree. Charlie brushed back some of the hanging leaves to reveal a small oak door that he opened, beckoning everyone inside. It was another hallway and Charlie again sped down the corridor lined with doors of all shapes and sizes.
"Come, come! I have a gift for all of you. Something extremely special, oh just you wait. Mr. McGregor will be sad he missed out because this is really something incredible!"
The group continued racing down the hallway, occasionally remarking on the names of rooms or the outlandish sounds coming from within, but Charlie would not be deterred from their next destination.
"Oh no. We can't be bothered with the candy cornfields. Surely, you've all been to Iowa. Same thing. Must press on!"
Finally, Charlie came to stop in front of a faded tan door with a small plaque reading "Broom Closet" on it. In fact, the door was so unremarkable the entire party might have sped right past it if Charlie hadn't stopped. This hardly seemed to be the home of some lavish gift, but Charlie looked surreptitiously around the hall before sneaking a small silver key from his pocket and opening the door with the care of a cat burglar.
Charlie ushered the group inside hurriedly and suddenly three full-fledged fighters, one small CEO, and diminutive chocolatier were all squished in a rather small closet that smelled strongly of cleaner and mold.
"What the hell is going on here?!" Dana White shouted angrily, a sentiment Colby and Jon quickly agreed with, while Francis simply tried not to take up the entire closet with his size.
"Just a tick, just one tick!"
Charlie closed the closet door behind him and flicked the light switch on the wall near the door, and immediately the cramped combatants felt the room begin to descend.
"This is the mostsecret room in the entire factory, and possibly the world!" Charlie explained as the closet continued to descend down a dark elevator shaft. "Only a select few Oompa Loompas even know about this room and even fewer are allowed inside. This is where Mr. Wonka and I kept all of our most dangerous inventions and discoveries!"
The looks of annoyance among the group quickly changed to ones of excited curiosity.
"What do you call this room, then?" Someone piped up.
"We don't call this room anything because we do not speak of it. At most we would raise our eyebrows and nod knowingly, but then again we would never do that because this room is never spoken about! And I trust you all can adhere to that once you leave here, as you'll soon see why."
The closet finally stopped its descent and the group now found themselves stepping into a musty room that looked for all world like evidence control. Rows and rows of boxes, hundreds and thousands of them stood stacked on shelves behind a gated door.
"Wait here for just one moment please, I'll be right back."
Charlie unlocked the gated door and disappeared into the storage room. Everyone craned their necks to try and see some of the nearest boxes while they waited, but Francis was the first one able to make out a few with names. And what names they were!
"Back to the Future Fudge — Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Time... Gummy Wormholes To Other Dimensions... Immortali-Tea... Are these what I think they are?"
"No chance, you goof," Dana answered. "This isn't The Phantom Tollbooth. That stuff isn't real."
"On the contrary, Mr. White," Charlie said as he scooted back to the group, "They are all as real as it gets. You see, while Mr. Wonka — and I after him — spent countless hours inventing wonderful new treats for the world, we also ended up discovering or inventing some things that the world might be better off without. And when that happens, those happy accidents are brought here for safekeeping. Including this!"
Charlie said as he revealed a small, nondescript pill bottle and placed it on the counter in front of the group.
"This is Wonka-Vite! It's a miraculous vitamin that Mr. Wonka cooked up way back even before I met him. Each one of the tiny pills in this bottle is worth more than the UFC, Endeavor, and the New York Stock Exchange combined, because each one of these pills is a miniature fountain of youth!"
Francis gasped admiringly, Jon looked puzzled, and Colby called "Bulls***." Only Dana didn't react, instead staring hungrily at the bottle now being shaken in Charlie's hand.
"That's right! Each of these pills will take years off your life! Not in the way that fighting Robbie Lawler would, but in the good way. You'll immediately be returned to feeling like you did as a younger man. You can see why Mr. Wonka thought he should keep this a secret. If this got out, everyone would want them. Wars would be waged over this tiny little bottle, and truth be told, they're even more rare now.
"Mr. Wonka left the recipe to make more of them but they're dreadfully difficult to make and disastrous to get wrong. I only have a few left and so it seemed like a good idea to give each of my guests one, as an extra special prize!"
Charlie unscrewed the bottle cap and dumped four small pills into his hand. The capsules shimmered between yellow and bright blue and each one seemed to wriggle as if some sort of magic was bound within, waiting to escape.
"Now each of you take one," Charlie said as he held his hand out to the group. "But be careful, my grandmother Georgina once overindulged and that was some fiasco!"
Once again though, not everyone was listening, as this time Dana moved at a speed of a much younger man, snatching all the pills from Charlie's hand and shoving them greedily into his mouth.
"What absolute goofs!" Dana erupted in glee. "This bozo is standing there offering you eternal youth and you just stand there staring like idiots?! This is why I came to this stupid thing in the first place. I heard the rumors he had the secret to immortality and I planned to steal it! Do you want to live for-f******-ever? I do and now I will!"
And as Dana cackled triumphantly, the others saw the Wonka-Vite start to take effect. His skin began transforming, losing the reddish hue and taking a more refreshed and youthful look, his face grew thinner, and even most surprising, a full head of hair began growing atop his head, a wavy, lustrous mane.
"This stuff is incredible! I feel like I'm 30 again! Sucks to suck, losers!"
But as the group looked on, Dana did not stop at 30. Nor did he stop at 20. His face lost even more shape and now acne popped up. His jawline receded, his cheekbones sunk.
"Wait... wait, no. Stop this! This is too young! Make it stop you f****** scumbag! Help! Help me!"
But there was nothing to be done about it, and the group stood and watched as the profanity-laced cries of indignant rage turned into the unintelligible cries of a bawling infant.
"There, there now, Dana," Charlie said as he picked up the screaming baby Dana White and handed him off to an Oompa Loompa who appeared as if by magic. "I did try to warn you. You're very lucky you stopped here. My Grandma Georgina went to Minusland and that's not a place you want to be.
"Please take Mr. White up to the nursery for the time being and then reach out to next of kin. Surely someone will be happy to raise him, perhaps one of the Fertitta brothers or Ari Emanuel."
The Oompa Loompa tottered off with the still-bawling infant White, and as Colby, Francis, and Jon looked at each other in utter astonishment, they heard another song begin.
Ooompa Loompadoompadee do
I've got another puzzle for you
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me!
What do you get when you're consumed by greed
Taking much more than you could possibly need
What is the point of hoarding all that wealth
How can you ever live with yourself
I know that I co-u-ldn't!
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dah
If you're not greedy you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Ooompa Loompadoompadee do!
"Well, well, well," sighed Charlie. "Two nasty individuals gone already! I think we'd better go before this room proves to tempting for anyone else."
And with that, Charlie shooed Colby, Francis, and Jon back into the closet and up to the main corridor.
"One good thing about losing some ballast though," Charlie explained as they emerged from the Broom Closet door, "is that now we can travel a little more expediently."
Charlie zigged and zagged his way down a series of corridors with the three fighters following along in his wake as quickly as they could, unwilling to get lost alone in a labyrinth of rooms that at this point seemed to all be designed by Kevin McCallister. Charlie finally settled in front of a set of double doors that slid open as he approached, revealing the famous Great Glass Elevator.
"Now, as many of you probably know already, this is the Great Glass Elevator! Unlike a normal elevator that only goes up and down, this elevator goes sideways and longways and slantways and any other ways you can think, including always! With just four of us left, we can move around the factory much quicker in this and we won't be so cramped."
"Didn't mind us being cramped in that smelly old broom closet," Francis grumbled as they filed into the elevator.
"I'm sorry but you'll have to speak up if you want me to hear you," Charlie exclaimed. "One of the hazards of living and working in this factory is the many loud bangs and whistles that deafen the ears.
"Now, I think it's time we went to the most important room in the factory — The Inventing Room!"
Charlie Bucket reached up and, without looking, pressed the small black button directly over his head. Instantly, there was a tremendous whizzing noise, the doors slammed shut, and the elevator shot diagonally as if out of a cannon in an 1800s sideshow. The three remaining guests were all flung from their feet into an undignified pile of limbs in the bottom corner of the elevator.
"Oh yes, I should have mentioned, it's best to hold one of these straps when riding the Great Glass Elevator," Mr. Bucket told them as they worked their way to upright positions.
The elevator was moving at tremendous speed, whizzing and whipping in a fashion that could not have been the most efficient method of travel but was nonetheless exhilarating, once you got used to it. As the guests acclimated to this new form of travel, Mr. Bucket began pointing out various sights that could be viewed through the panes of the transparent lift.
An enormous, craggy mountain, gleaming with all the colors of the rainbow (and several not of it, too) with Ooompa Loompas roped all along the sides and hacking into it with pickaxes —
"That's Big Rock Candy Mountain," Mr. Bucket said. "Harry McClintock took a few creative liberties with the song, but the overall gist is right. No whiskey streams or cigarette trees, but there is a lemonade spring that's quite refreshing.
"Now Elvis, on the other hand —
They rounded a corner and gazed out upon an expansive green field with endless rows of brightly tufted trees straight out of The Lorax.
"— No idea what happened there. Cotton Candy Land isn't remotely close to what he described."
Candy apple trees, hot cocoa springs, candy cane forests, seas of swirly twirly gumdrops, the Lincoln Tunnel — the rooms seemed endless, with each new one more outlandish than the last. Finally, the elevator flattened out and began to slow down before easing to a gentle stop. The doors opened and the group found themselves staring across a hallway directly at a little red door with a plaque on it that read, "INVENTING ROOM — PRIVATE — KEEP OUT." They shuffled across, and before opening the door, Mr. Bucket turned to the group.
"As I said earlier, this is the most important room in the factory, one where I design and test all the latest and greatest inventions from Wonka. All of Mr. Wonka's creations, even the ones from that room that we don't speak about started right here. This room is exceedingly important and exceedingly dangerous. No touching, no tasting, no telling! I can't have my latest secrets getting out and I would quite like to stop losing guests!"
"Alright, alright," Jon said. "None of us want to get Violet Beauregarded."
"No need to worry about that," Charlie Bucket replied. "We discontinued the Three-Course Dinner Gum. Never could get the recipe right. There's a whole town of Blueberry Oompa Loompas here as a result."
"You probably couldn't get it right because you were feeding it to Oompa Loompas and little girls," Colby interjected. "Steak and potatoes is a man's meal. If you still had some lying around, I'm sure I wouldn't turn into a blueberry."
"No, probably a cow," Charlie Bucket said jovially. "Alright then, in we get!"
The quartet entered The Inventing Room and were immediately greeted by a cacophony of smells, ranging from rancid to delicious. The Inventing Room was spotless and white, like the finest Michelin restaurant kitchen, packed practically to bursting with giant ovens, huge cast iron pots, and all other manner of kitchen implement and instrument imaginable, including three brass trombones and one slightly dented piccolo.
Charlie Bucket began showing the group around, occasionally stirring a pot or adjusting a burner on one of the many stoves, and explaining everything as he went.
"This machine you've probably heard about!" Charlie said as he made his way to a small, shiny machine spitting out marbles every few sew seconds. "This is the machine that makes —
Charlie reached into his pocket dramatically and pulled out one of the marbles.
" — Everlasting Gobstoppers! This right here is the original one that Mr. Wonka gave me on my first trip here. Sixty years on and it's still as good as new!"
Charlie Bucket popped the marble in his mouth and sucked for a few seconds, drifting off dreamily.
"We heard about these!" Jon said. "Gobstoppers that will never get smaller. But if you got yours 60 years ago, why are they still in here? Do they turn you yellow or something?"
"Of course not!" Charlie replied. "A brilliant ocher! Kidding, kidding. The Gobstoppers don't turn you anything other than exactly what you are, but I still don't know if they're everlasting. Sixty years is not an eternity after all, though sometimes it might feel like it. I can't rightly go around selling a product with a false name! That's entirely unethical!"
"Says the man who just turned Dana into a crying infant," Francis muttered to himself. "OK, well why not change the name? Super Long-Lasting Gobstopper."
"I'm sorry but you really must learn to speak up," Charlie said. "I can't hear you at all."
Charlie marched on, showing the group the other projects he had been working on before stopping at a gigantic machine that stood in the very center of the room. The machine towered high above the three fighters and small Mr. Bucket, with glass tubes and metal pipes shooting out of nearly every side of it.
"This is the infamous Gum Machine!" Charlie Bucket explained. "We repurposed it after abandoning Three Course Dinner Gum —"
Charlie pressed two buttons and pulled a lever on the side panel near him and the giant machine rumbled into action.
" — Now it's working on my latest and most cherished invention: I call it Lie-Dent... We're still workshopping the name."
Click!
A tiny drawer popped out of the machine near Mr. Bucket, who extracted from it a small pink strip that looked like an ordinary piece of gum.
"This! Is Lie-Dent!" Charlie said, adopting a Billy Mays affect. "One of the most remarkable products to come from the ingenious minds at Wonka in years! Do you ever think your Mom and Dad might be lying to you but you're not quite sure? Do you ever think your math teacher is lying to you when she tells you this is important? Have you ever played Truth or Dare and felt that one of your friends just wasn't being honest? Well say no more!
"Lie-Dent is the revolutionary new way to ensure that all of your friends (and enemies) stop being polite, and start being real! Simply give your friend a stick of Lie-Dent and start asking questions and you'll find that no matter what the lie, the chewer suddenly can't tell it! Honesty will come pouring out of them like an observant four-year-old!
"Patent pending. Not for use on children under 10 or in Burkina Faso. Wonka is not responsible for any hurt feelings that may be caused by a sudden influx of truth into a relationship."
"Well? What do you think?!"
The group paused for a minute and pondered the little pink strip in Charlie's hand.
"So it's truth serum, but gum?" Francis asked.
"Exactly!" Charlie exclaimed. "Only no one has ever enjoyed serum. It's disgusting! But everyone loves gum!"
"Bulls***!" Colby cried.
"Oh, you're not a fan of gum? I'm a bit surprised because you do like to move your mouth a lot."
"No! I'm saying the gum is bulls***," Colby said, getting heated. "Truth serum isn't real. Even lie detectors don't actually work. It's all a big hoax! I bet that's just a piece of Juicy Fruit that's spiked with rum. Just gets all the weak little Oompa Loompas tipsy and then they start talking like drunk college students. Freaking betas! That wouldn't work on a real man like me!"
"Well, you're welcome to try some if you'd like to, but I really wouldn't advise it," Charlie said, extending the stick of gum ever so slightly towards Colby. "We haven't got it all the way nailed down yet."
"If I chew it will I turn into some sort of fruit?"
"No, no. You won't turn into a fruit."
"Then who cares!" Colby shouted as he snatched the stick of gum, shoved it into his mouth, and started chewing. "I'm going to show all of you just how tough I am!"
"I'm a loser! Ha! See? Didn't stop me from telling it at all. I'm dumb! Kamaru Usman is better than me! Trump lost fair and square! All lies! Your gum doesn't do anything against a real alpha like me!"
But at "all lies," the rest of the group noticed that something was happening to Colby. A faint golden tinge started to show up on Colby's cheeks. At first it could have been a trick of the light, but as Colby kept talking and chewing, it became unmistakable: His face was turning yellow. And was he getting smaller too?
"You see Mr. Suck-It, you and that crazy Wonka guy are just a bunch of soy boys who aren't as smart or as clever as I am, and you're nowhere near as tough! I've got real apex energy because I'm the greatest welterweight of all-time and the greatest fighter of all-time! I'm Donald Trump's favorite fighter! No one, and certainly no stick of puny gum, is going to tell me what I can and cannot say. This is America and we believe in the First Amendment!"
Yep. No doubt about it. Colby was shrinking and turning more yellow with every word. Finally he noticed that something wasn't right as he could hear his own voice change, going up an octave as he got smaller. But still he kept on chewing.
"What's this? What's happening?! Suck-It, what did you do to me?!"
"Well, I did warn you not to try it. And you're not turning into a fruit. At least not technically. Still, if you hadn't been so keen on lying, it all would've been OK."
"But I didn't lie!" Covington squeaked as he was now the size of a large fire hydrant and still shrinking and yellowing by the second. "I am great! I am the best! Leon Edwards is a fraud! I love Trump!! Help! Help! This is all a conspiracy!! I'm not owned!!!"
And then, with a sudden pop! — Colby Covington vanished in a puff of smoke, and there where he once stood was a small withered corncob.
"Hmm, that's interesting" Charlie muttered to himself, as he bent over and picked up the object formerly known as Colby Covington. "That's the first time we've had someone turn into a corncob. We've had spinach and parsnips, and of course that one fiasco with alfalfa sprouts, but never corn. Perhaps it's because he was so very corny himself? Hmm."
Charlie considered this for a moment before shaking his head and handing Corn Cobbington over to an Oompa Loompa who appeared as if by magic. "Oh well, I did warn him. And since corn really is more of a vegetable than a fruit, I don't think I lied."
"Never to fear!" Charlie then added, looking at the horrified look on Francis' face. (Jon, meanwhile, seemed somewhat amused.) "We'll go plant the cob in one of the factory gardens and in no time flat it will sprout into a rather large corn stalk and out will pop the old Colby! So long as the reaping machine doesn't get him, he'll be good as new, and perhaps a little wiser for the wear."
And at that moment, another song drifted into hearing.
Ooompa Loompadoompadee do
I've got another puzzle for you
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me!
What do you get from acting like an ass
Hurling insults without an ounce of class
Why don't you try simply being civil
Or are you afraid we can tell
You're as fun as day old milk
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dah
If you're not rude then you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Ooompa Loompadoompadee do!
"Well, well, well! Isn't this wonderful!" Charlie Bucket said as he started walking off. "I had a feeling, you know? I really did. But you can never be too sure with things like this can you? No, I'm quite happy everything worked out like this. Oh, how splendid!"
Jon and Francis looked at each other and then went after him.
"Mr. Bucket, what do you mean everything worked out?" Francis asked. "There are still two of us left!"
"Yes, and it's the right two!" Charlie said, scurrying out of The Inventing Room and into the hallway, where he proceeded to pick up speed. "How absolutely perfect is that?! I barely dared to dream! Come, come! I'll explain everything in just a moment."
Another mad dash through the corridors ensued, and before long, Charlie stopped in front of yet another door, this one with the words FOOD FIGHT on it.
"This, gentlemen, is the true purpose of today and the final test for the grand prize!"
Charlie opened the door, and as the two men walked in they saw one of the last things they ever expected to see inside this ludicrous and mystical chocolate factory: An octagon.
"You see," Charlie began to explain. "As I told you all in the Golden Tickets I gave you, I'm an enormous MMA fan. I absolutely adore it and one day, while I was perusing the MMA Fighting (great website) Pound-For-Pound Rankings, I had an idea: What if we could actually decide pound-for-pound fights instead of arguing incessantly with no clear answer?
"So I got to work, using all the candy-making secrets Mr. Wonka taught me, trying to solve this conundrum. I don't have to tell you that it was extremely difficult and more than a few Oompa Loompas told me this was simply a bridge too far to cross. But still I persisted, calling an old friend of Mr. Wonka's named George Kranky who once invented a Marvelous Medicine that turned people 20 feet tall. We tried it, and while this did get everyone to the same size, the explosion was all gone. They were lumbering and slow. And also 20 feet tall, which is a bit much. So I tinkered on.
"Eventually, after years of work, I finally perfected it! This —" Charlie said, taking a small brown box off of a nearby table and revealing a row of neatly stacked and individually wrapped pieces of candy, "— is P4P Fudge.
"Each piece of fudge is paired with another. You eat one piece and your opponent eats the other. In moments each of you will transform into fighters of exactly identical size and weight! You will still be exactly as you are, with all your skills, your power, your explosivity, only smaller or bigger to match your opponent exactly! Then after 45 minutes, just long enough for a fist fight, you revert to your normal self!"
Jon and Francis looked at one another before turning to Charlie.
"Mr. Bucket, no offense, but we've watched you essentially poison two people today with candy. Why would we possibly eat this?" Jon asked.
"Poisoned? Oh nonsense. I told them not to do it! And besides, this is not experimental candy. This is fully tested and completely harmless! One-hundred eighty-seven separate test studies and not a problem with any of them! Scout's honor!"
"OK, but still, why would we do this?"
"Because this is the final test! Whatever two individuals lasted the longest in the factory, would then become the first non-Oompa Loompas to try out P4P Fudge, and then they would enter the Wonka octagon and fight for the right to be my heir! After all, if there's one thing I've learned running this place, it's that you've got to be a fighter. So, let's do the damn thing!"
Francis paused for a moment to think, but then reached out and took the top piece of fudge with a shiny blue wrapper, tore it open and popped it into his mouth. Jon, however, did not.
"This is ridiculous!" Jon argued. "If all you want is a fighter to take over, I'm the obvious choice. I'm the greatest fighter who has ever lived! You say you need creativity to be a candy-maker? Look at what I do in the cage! It's outrageous for you to even set this up. I'm the GOAT! Maybe if this was Stipe Miocic it would be more reasonable, but Francis isn't even in the conversation! Next you'll want me to fight Tom Aspinall!!!"
A smirk crept across Francis' face.
"Well, that may be," Charlie said cheerfully. "Or it may not. We cannot be absolutely sure. What I am sure about though, is that while this factory most certainly needs a fighter to take over after me, what it doesn't need is a scared fighter. Scared candy don't make candy, as the old saying goes. You will never become a great chocolatier if you're unwilling to take on risks! I take risks every day! Just this morning I declined to floss. Gingivitis is the silent killer, you know.
"And so, refusing to participate in the P4P Fudge challenge will unfortunately lead to immediate disqualification. After all, if someone is so intensely terrified of fighting someone else that they look for any excuse to avoid it, well, that's not my kind of chocolatier."
"What's the matter, Jon?" Francis said with a smile. "Scared?"
"I'm the GOAT!" and with that, Jon grabbed the piece of fudge in the red wrapper, tore it open, and ate it. "You just bit off more than you can chew, Francis."
"Funny, Tyson Fury said the same thing. Well, he called me a sausage. But still."
And as Jon finished his bit of fudge, the transformation took place. A shimmer of light encased either of their bodies and a low hum sounded from somewhere deep within each of them. Francis largely remained the same, just slightly compressed, as though an image of him was converted to 95 percent. Jon, having already moved up to heavyweight, likewise shrunk some, shedding some of the loose heavyweight poundage and leaning out to a state slightly larger than his light heavyweight day.
"Viola!" Charlie exclaimed. "If I had to guess, I'd say you're both right around 240 pounds! That's lucky. Each set of fudge is unique and can result an just about any number of possible weights. I thought that would make it more fun! Add a bit of mystery to the entire thing as well! I'll admit I would have been a bit sad if you both competed at the size of Oompa Loompas.
"Anyway, better press on. The clock on your transformations has started so we don't have all day!"
And with that, a collection of all manner of Oompa Loompas emerged out of nowhere and set about preparing the fight. Two groups came carrying ladders, allowing the cut-Oompa Loompas to apply vaseline to each fighter's face, several more filed into the bleachers around the cage, three particularly wizened Oompa Loompas took up seats around the cage and furrowed their brows while looking down at notepads, and one slightly portly Oompa Loompa stepped into the cage sporting black slacks and a black polo shirt with a small patch featuring a white top hat silhouette on a blue and red background.
"That's Monty. He'll be the referee," Charlie explained. "I considered doing it but I want to make absolutely sure there is no possibility of favoritism. May the best chocolatier win!"
And with that, the cage doors closed, Charlie Bucket rung a small bell sitting on the table in front of him, and the fight that seemed like it would never happen finally began.
"You're f*****, Francis," Jon said, circling his opponent. "I'm the greatest fighter who has ever lived, and the only reason people were interested in this fight is because you were bigger and stronger than me. But that's not the case now! You have nothing on me. Like Ciryl Gane, you're just a pretender, and the king is here. I've never lost and I won't start not. You have no chance."
"No, I have this!"
And with that, Francis Ngannou launched an uppercut so monstrous it defies description. He channeled into it every ounce of pain and anger and frustration that came from all those who doubted him, who blamed him and not the UFC, who said he was running from Jon Jones, that he fumbled the bag. It happened so fast that Jones, distracted by his own hubris, didn't have time to react. The force was so great it sent Jones flying across the cage like the Great Glass Elevator, he crashed into the fence and crumbled to the mat.
Francis didn't follow up. He didn't need to. Jon was out cold. Monty called the fight. Twenty-six seconds. Francis Ngannou was the heir to the Wonka Factory.
"Oh, bravo! Bravo, Francis!" Charlie Bucket said as he entered the ring. A team of Oompa Loompas followed him in and began attending to Jon Jones, who was still out. "That was absolutely marvelous! I had an inkling that would happen, you know! But as I said, you can never be too sure about these things. But now we know! Oh, that's wonderful! Yes, I can tell you are going to be an extraordinary chocolatier!"
Jon Jones finally began to stir, sitting up surrounded by Oompa Loompas and clearly unsure of what happened. Fortunately, the Oompa Loompa's were happy to help.
Ooompa Loompadoompadee do
I've got another puzzle for you
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dee
If you are wise, you'll listen to me!
What do you get when you're full of hubris
An unhappy downfall that's dis-ast-er-ous
Why don't you try simply being humble
Then like Francis you won't fumble
What a tragic turnaround
Ooompa Loompadoompadee dah
If you're not vain then you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Ooompa Loompadoompadee do!
"Come along, now, come along," Charlie said tugging Francis along gently by the arm as he stood looking back at the dumbfounded Jon. "We have so much time and so little to do — strike that, reverse it. There's a whole world of candy-making that I need to introduce you to. First and foremost, on the matter of jelly beans..."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a little thing they call a parable. None of you asked for it, and even fewer of you wanted it, but nonetheless I delivered. Consider this my Christmas present to myself. Next year, I'm doing An MMA Christmas Carol. Until then, love y'all and happy holidays.
