Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

by Roald Dahl

“Who eats fish and cabbage and potatoes in this factory, I’d like to know?” said Mike Teavee. “I do, of course,” answered Mr. Wonka. “You don’t think I live on cacao beans, do you?”

“But . . . but . . . but . . . ” shrieked Mrs. Salt, “where does the great big pipe go to in the end?” “Why, to the furnace, of course,” Mr. Wonka said calmly. “To the incinerator.”

“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Wonka, “there’s always a chance that they’ve decided not to light it today.” “A chance!” yelled Mrs. Salt. “My darling Veruca! She’ll . . . she’ll . . . she’ll be sizzled like a sausage!”

“Quite right, my dear,” said Mr. Salt. “Now see here, Wonka,” he added, “I think you’ve gone just a shade too far this time, I do indeed. My daughter may be a bit of a frump—I don’t mind admitting it—but that doesn’t mean you can roast her to a crisp. I’ll have you know I’m extremely cross about this, I really am.”

Strongly put.

Mrs. Salt bent further forward to get a closer look. She was now kneeling right on the edge of the hole with her head down and her enormous behind sticking up in the air like a giant mushroom. It was a dangerous position to be in. She needed only one tiny little push . . . one gentle nudge in the right place . . . and that is exactly what the squirrels gave her!

Sensible squirrels.

Angina?”

LOL HER NAME IS ANGINA

The squirrels rushed up behind him. . . . “Help!” he shouted. But he was already toppling forward, and down the chute he went, just as his wife had done before him—and his daughter.

“But what about the great fiery incinerator?” asked Charlie. “They only light it every other day,” said Mr. Wonka. “Perhaps this is one of the days when they let it go out. You never know . . . they might be lucky. . . .”

“Veruca Salt, the little brute, Has just gone down the garbage chute, (And as we very rightly thought That in a case like this we ought To see the thing completely through, We’ve polished off her parents, too.)

Exploding Candy for Your Enemies.

TAKE MY MONEY

Mint Jujubes for the Boy Next Door—They’ll Give Him Green Teeth for a Month.

Invisible Chocolate Bars for Eating in Class.

Magic Hand-Fudge—When You Hold It in Your Hand, You Taste It in Your Mouth.

A great, craggy mountain made entirely of fudge, with Oompa-Loompas (all roped together for safety) hacking huge hunks of fudge out of its sides. . . .

“I’m going to be sick!” yelled Mrs. Teavee, turning green in the face. “Please don’t be sick,” said Mr. Wonka. “Try and stop me!” said Mrs. Teavee. “Then you’d better take this,” said Mr. Wonka, and he swept his magnificent top hat off his head, and held it out, upside down, in front of Mrs. Teavee’s mouth.

“It won’t stop till we get there. I only hope no one’s using the other elevator at this moment.” “What other elevator?” screamed Mrs. Teavee. “The one that goes the opposite way on the same track as this one,” said Mr. Wonka. “Holy mackerel!” cried Mr. Teavee. “You mean we might have a collision?” “I’ve always been lucky so far,” said Mr. Wonka.

Mr. Wonka's bedside manner needs work

“That’s me!” said Mike Teavee. “Shut up!” said Mr. Teavee. “Thank you,” said Mr. Wonka.

‘Look here!’ I shouted, ‘if these people can break up a photograph into millions of pieces and send the pieces whizzing through the air and then put them together again at the other end, why can’t I do the same thing with a bar of chocolate? Why can’t I send a real bar of chocolate whizzing through the air in tiny pieces and then put the pieces together at the other end, all ready to be eaten?”

OMG YES

“It has to be big,” Mr. Wonka explained, “because whenever you send something by television, it always comes out much smaller than it was when it went in. Even with ordinary television, when you photograph a big man, he never comes out on your screen any taller than a pencil, does he?

Seems legit.

“Just imagine,” cried Mr. Wonka, “when I start using this across the country . . . you’ll be sitting at home watching television and suddenly a commercial will flash onto the screen and a voice will say, ‘Eat Wonka’s Chocolates! They’re the best in the world! If you don’t believe us, try one for yourself—now!’ And you simply reach out and take one!

Good god I'd be broke and round as a barrel

Mike Teavee Is Sent by Television

It's about damn time

“Oh, my sainted aunt!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Don’t mention that disgusting stuff in front of me! Do you know what breakfast cereal is made of? It’s made of all those little curly wooden shavings you find in pencil sharpeners!”

He paints quite a picture.

“Mike!” screamed Mrs. Teavee. “Stop! Come back! You’ll be turned into a million tiny pieces!”

Pfft oh well

The crazy boy

That's putting it mildly

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Mr. Wonka, “I do hope that no part of him gets left behind.”

Mrs. Teavee let out a scream of horror. “You mean only a half of Mike is coming back to us?” she cried. “Let’s hope it’s the top half,” said Mr. Teavee.

“He’s shrunk!” said Mr. Teavee. “Of course he’s shrunk,” said Mr. Wonka. “What did you expect?”

Honey, we shrank the TV brat.

“He won’t be able to do anything!” cried Mrs. Teavee. “Oh, yes I will!” squeaked the tiny voice of Mike Teavee. “I’ll still be able to watch television!”

“Well,” said Mr. Wonka, stroking his beard and gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling, “I must say that’s a wee bit tricky. But small boys are extremely springy and elastic. They stretch like mad. So what we’ll do, we’ll put him in a special machine I have for testing the stretchiness of chewing gum! Maybe that will bring him back to what he was.” “Oh, thank you!” said Mrs. Teavee. “Don’t mention it, dear lady.”

“It’ll make his toes grow out until they’re as long as his fingers. . . .” “Oh, no!” cried Mrs. Teavee. “Don’t be silly,” said Mr. Wonka. “It’s most useful. He’ll be able to play the piano with his feet.”

“Follow these orders,” said Mr. Wonka, handing the Oompa-Loompa a piece of paper on which he had written full instructions.

In almost every house we’ve been, We’ve watched them gaping at the screen. They loll and slop and lounge about, And stare until their eyes pop out. (Last week in someone’s place we saw A dozen eyeballs on the floor.)

And cannibals crouching ’round the pot, Stirring away at something hot. (It smells so good, what can it be! Good gracious, it’s Penelope.)

Oh jeez

Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle

I have no idea what this is but I feel like I need to read it

And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul, There’s Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole—

Deliberate reference to Wind in the Willows in Matilda movie?

Then fill the shelves with lots of books, Ignoring all the dirty looks, The screams and yells, the bites and kicks, And children hitting you with sticks—

P.S. Regarding Mike Teavee, We very much regret that we Shall simply have to wait and see If we can get him back his height. But if we can’t—it serves him right.

We need more eulogies like this.

“You mean you’re the only one left?” Mr. Wonka said, pretending to be surprised. “Why yes,” whispered Charlie. “Yes.” Mr. Wonka suddenly exploded with excitement. “But my dear boy,” he cried out, “that means you’ve won!”

I do congratulate you!” he cried. “I really do! I’m absolutely delighted! It couldn’t be better!

I mean considering what little shits the other four were

“But . . . but . . . but . . . it’s made of glass!” shouted Grandpa Joe. “It’ll break into a million pieces!” “I suppose it might,” said Mr. Wonka, cheerful as ever, “but it’s pretty thick glass, all the same.”

“But she’s purple in the face!” cried Grandpa Joe.

It's still an improvement.

“And here comes Mike Teavee!” said Grandpa Joe. “Good heavens! What have they done to him? He’s about ten feet tall and thin as a wire!” “They’ve overstretched him on the gum-stretching machine,” said Mr. Wonka. “How very careless.” “But how dreadful for him!” cried Charlie. “Nonsense,” said Mr. Wonka, “he’s very lucky. Every basketball team in the country will be trying to get him.

Lucky him if that's the worst that happened

So who is going to run the factory when I get too old to do it myself? Someone’s got to keep it going—if only for the sake of the Oompa-Loompas. Mind you, there are thousands of clever men who would give anything for the chance to come in and take over from me, but I don’t want that sort of person. I don’t want a grown-up person at all. A grownup won’t listen to me; he won’t learn.

The elevator was now hovering over the roof of the Bucket’s little house. “What are you going to do?” cried Charlie. “I’m going right on in to fetch them,” said Mr. Wonka. “How?” asked Grandpa Joe. “Through the roof,” said Mr. Wonka, pressing another button.

“Who is this crazy man?” screamed Grandma Josephine. “He could have killed us all.” “This,” said Grandpa Joe, “is Mr. Willy Wonka himself.”

Grandma don't mince words

“I’d rather die in my bed!” shouted Grandma Josephine. “So would I!” cried Grandma Georgina. “I refuse to go!” announced Grandpa George. So Mr. Wonka and Grandpa Joe and Charlie, taking no notice of their screams, simply pushed the bed into the elevator.

Hell of a day they're having

“Please don’t be frightened,” he said. “It’s quite safe. And we’re going to the most wonderful place in the world!” “Charlie’s right,” said Grandpa Joe. “Will there be anything to eat when we get there?” asked Grandma Josephine. “I’m starving! The whole family is starving!” “Anything to eat?” cried Charlie, laughing. “Oh, you just wait and see!”

;o;