COMING UP NEXT ON THE BACHELOR…
WRONG SET ASSHOLE!
(SORRY)
COMING UP NEXT ON FINDING WONKA:
No one has a clue what’s going on this week, and we are still a month behind schedule, I know. We apologize for the inconvenience. I know we said we were serious writers. We’ve been having some technical issues with the brain of the creator. Anyways, here’s some more slop for you pigs.
ACTION!!!
Now, where were we?
Oompa Loompa (V.O.)
Most humans begin their lives with good intentions— that is, after all the animalistic, violent energy has been beaten out of them. Once their conditioning is complete, then they have good intentions. Pretty soon, they may come up with something fun to do with their lives. And many of them fail to ever materialize that thing that burned in their head so wildly during childhood, so in their quiet defeat, they resort to things like Loompa Land Liquor. Oh, you’ve never heard of this? Did I not mention that I have total control over the liquor market, and that every single brand of alcohol is actually run under my supervision? Yes, I am richer than Willy Wonka himself. In fact, I am richer than Mansa Musa. So, you’ve never met anyone who profits from alcoholism? Let me be the one to POP that bubble for you. Everyone knows alcohol is a poison— perhaps that’s what makes it so popular. It is the perfect drug to sedate a deeply unhappy Humanity. Cheers. But even I am not immune to its effects. Look at me, puking in the toilet like some teenager at a party. How embarrassing.
PAN OVER TO HUMAN AND JD SITTING OUTSIDE, SMOKING. JD HANDS HUMAN A MAGIC PILL THAT CURES HIS HANGOVER INSTANTLY. THE MAGIC PILL, ALSO KNOWN AS “FORBIDDEN FRUIT,” IS MADE OF ANGEL TEARS, BABIES BLOOD AND PURE COCAINE.
BEGIN DEEP CONVERSATION:
“Why are you here?” JD asked.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“What are you looking for?”
“I suppose I was looking for you.”
“No, that’s not it. You were brought here to look for me, yes, but that’s not what you’re looking for.”
“I need something to believe in.”
“And you find this how?”
“This city speaks to me in a way that I have difficulty describing. I find myself deeply uncomfortable anywhere else.”
“And what has this city shown you?”
“It showed me that it’s a shell of a former paradise that has been overrun by people who are completely full of shit and don’t even realize where they are— which is the most beautiful place ever constructed. But you can tell there’s a few people still around who still think of it that way. You can see it in their eyes. The people who are made of plastic have made everyone else believe that they have achieved the highest state of being, when they know deep down how empty they are and how stupid and meaningless their idea of wealth is. You have to get away from these people. You have to ignore them. Giving them your manufactured attention only gives them more power. Despite this distraction, there is still real opportunity here to make grand artistic statements... to fall in love. To be seen in the right way.”
“And in your mind, this doesn’t exist anywhere else?”
“I know it doesn’t. At least not for me.”
“What’s it like everywhere else?”
“It’s like a bad idea that everyone tells you is a good one. But they know it doesn’t work either.”
“What’s the idea?”
“The idea is that you can build a city in the middle of nowhere and advertise it as a mega storage unit for all of your toys, and you must spend as much of your time as possible showing off said toys, to remind everyone else that you know how to have fun, and that you can afford it. With no inherent beauty, you must pretend that you have it through acquiring more and more stuff.”
“Isn’t that just the same here?”
“Of course not. Everyone who lives in Beverly Hills knows that they are living in an alternate reality. They know it’s fake, but can’t help themselves from playing the game, because they love it. But when everyone has designer clothes and fancy purses and exotic cars, they lose their value. There are no real status symbols when everyone has the same things. When you go elsewhere in the city, you get a real human experience. The idea of Beverly Hills is not something you actively have to participate in to survive here. Go to any other city, and you’re expected to fall in line with whatever dogma that place preaches. You have to be a part of the group or you die.”
“That’s interesting.”
“And forget about being in love too. You can’t fall in love with a person who is pretending to love a place they know they hate. When people move to Los Angeles, they do so with purpose. They want to be here. Despite the fact that many people come here to stroke their ego just by saying “I’m in Los Angeles,” you have much better odds of finding a genuine partner if both parties know deep down that they are in the right place. Where I’m from, people know it sucks, but they pretend it’s great. You look in their eyes and see nothing, even if it was the most beautiful person on the planet. The lights are on, but nobody’s home.”
“That’s just the way the world is anymore my boy.”
“I refuse to believe that.”
"You’re companion, the Oompa Loompa is a prime example of this.”
“How so?”
“He’s a con man, who’s sole interest is self preservation, which is ironic given his painfully obvious alcohol dependence. He brought you here under a false pretense that you were going to find a fictional character whose wisdom could save the world. People like that don’t exist. Everyone is confused. Everyone is pretending…”
The Oompa Loompa can be heard briefly dry heaving in the background.
“And as for that girl with the car. I don’t imagine she’s real either. There is no perfect woman out there driving in a circle, waiting for you, her Prince Charming. This is a fairytale, obviously. There is no such thing as having a soulmate. People tend to pick the best partner they can find out of the pool of people around them. Some people happily accept those odds, but some people like you loathe that to your core. You despise your choices so much that you think the only choice is to be alone. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: No one is happy. Everyone is driving around in a circle waiting for some kind of miracle to happen. But it never does.”
“So what do we do instead?” I asked.
“I actually don’t know.”
“Well I think for a start, we need to get rid of the Oompa Loompa. Then we can move onto bigger fish. A full scale deconstruction of every grifter in this place. Priority Number One: Gavin Nuisance.”
“Assassination is in fact frowned upon in most societies.”
“This is coming from the guy who said publicly that we should assassinate the President.”
“Well, at the time…”
“I don’t want to hear it. You can’t say something like that and then scold others who want to do it to the people who represent “your party.” As if any politician actually has your best interest in mind. Ha!”
“You know, this relentless slander of my character is not going to bode well for my redemption tour PR campaign.”
“Nobody reads this anyways, why do you care?”
“I don’t want to be remembered just as the guy who had the crazy wife. I’d rather be remembered as a good actor and musician.”
“Of which you are neither.”
“I thought you were a fan of mine. What happened to you? This gotcha journalistic hazing of me is bizarre and uncalled for.”
“I am simply projecting my horrid mental health problems by bringing you down from that shiny castle you’ve lived in all these years.”
“I don’t understand how that’s fair.”
“It’s not.”
“Well I guess this is why you never meet your heroes.”
“Something like that.”
“So what’s really bothering you then? Cause it’s clearly not me.”
“There’s no magic in this life. The only magic is man made in order to sell something. A child will believe in magic, but their parents ultimately pay the bill. You have no idea what you’re experiencing, and then you grow up feeling like you’ve been duped. And you have. You go see a movie because you want to watch a happy ending, and these days, they don’t even give that to you. There are no happy endings in the real world either. Why is it so hard to accept that reality is painful all the way to the end? I despise my own cynicism and yet, I can’t escape it. I know too much and yet still know nothing.”
“Sounds like you don’t have a lot to live for— at least, that’s what you’ve convinced yourself.”
“Every avenue I seek to find some kind of purpose in life has led to a dead end of misery.”
“I’m not sure if I can help you with that.” JD said.
“This scene has gone on too long hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, let’s do something else.”
“Where’s the goddamn Oompa Loompa?”
“Let’s check the bathroom.”
We found the Oompa Loompa passed out on the bathroom floor with vomit stained all over his little outfit. An additional mountain of vomit was in the toilet, which didn’t make much sense. How could so much come out of such a little person?
Johnny gave him a gentle kick on the arm, and he took a sharp breath and came back to Earth with us regular sized people.
“How long have I been out?” The Oompa Loompa asked.
“Days,” I said.
“That’s impossible.”
The Oompa Loompa struggled to his feet and turned to see the mountain of vomit in the toilet.
“My god, doesn’t anyone know how to flush around here? That is repulsive.”
He turned to flush the toilet but the mountain of vomit only started to gargle. Soon the pressure from all that stomach bile caused the toilet to shake. Sensing an inevitable explosion, the Oompa Loompa cried, “Run away!”
We got out of there as fast as we could and shut the door before the toilet erupted as violently as Mount St. Helens circa 1980. The eruption was so bad it caused all the plumbing in the hotel to explode, effectively turning the beloved and mysterious Chateau Marmont into one giant shit stain. We managed to get out of the building before being completely covered in that foul fecal matter and listened as people screamed in horror for a few minutes before wandering back over to Sweetzer Ave to discuss our next moves. The story is feeling a little stale, I know.
We were back in the kitchen as Johnny poured us each a full glass of whiskey before passing around his jar of dirt for a little afternoon pick me up. He lit one of his hand rolled cigarettes and took a few long drags before addressing the group.
“Alright. Here’s how we mix things up. We’ve partied, we’ve puked, we’ve philosophized and I may say, uh, broken new ground. Now all there’s left to do is find a man named Henry Goldman. He is the keeper of knowledge of good and evil. He has seen the Underworld. He knows all of man’s most vile temptations. He is both the King and the Court Jester. He is the snake in the Garden of Eden. Many say he does not exist, purely the work of some author’s imagination. But I believe he’s real, and I think I know how he can help us.”
The Oompa Loompa interjected, “But Mr. Depp, and if I may, Mr. Wonka, I’m confused. I am King Henry Goldman II. Surely you’re not talking about me.”
“No, of course not.”
“But why have the same name?”
“Coincidence man.”
“Well, where is he?” I asked.
“Blue Lagoon Resort, in the Virgin Islands.” JD said.
I NEED MUSIC! WHERE’S THE FUCKING MUSIC? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO END THIS SCENE?? GODDAMNIT.
*WHAT SONG?
NEVER MIND, WHERE’S THE GRAPHIC WITH THE PLANE FLYING TOWARDS IT’S DESTINATION WITH THE RED LINE BEHIND IT AND THE LITTLE DOTS TO REPRESENT THE LAYOVERS, YOU KNOW, INDIANA JONES STYLE?
*SIR WE RAN OUT OF MONEY
WELL ISN’T THAT JUST GREAT. CAN’T EVEN GET ONE FUCKING SCENE RIGHT. THIS TOWN WILL NEVER SEE ANOTHER AUTEUR LIKE ME, MARK MY WORDS.