[ WP ] You have won a trip to visit the factory of [ any real life company ] . It is literally as magical as Willy Wonka 's Chocolate Factory .

Jimmy watched the other children arrive, all of them coming to stand beneath the great bronze S & W emblazoned across the wrought iron gate. He ’ d gotten there early, he only lived a quarter mile down the road. His family was poor, and both his mother and father had to work, so he was alone. 
 
 He starred through the black iron bars at the great factory spreading out across almost 600 acres here in Springfield, Massachusetts, its forest of smoke stacks belching coal black clouds into the sky. It was snowing, and the cold passed easily through Jimmy ’ s tattered and old coat. He clutched his ticket in his fist, the only thing that would get him through the massive fence. 
 
 The small group waited. The instructions had told them to meet here at this exact date and time, noon, on the fourth of December. 
 
 Somewhere a bell tower began to ring. The great gong rushed over the snow, seemingly surrounding the children and their guardians, and on the twelfth ring, the massive door of the factory swung open. 
 
 From the foreboding black, stepped a large man. He wore heavy boots and camouflage everything else. Draped across his shoulders and framing either side of his prodigious belly was a brightly colored orange vest. A scraggly short beard wrapped around his fat cheeks, and a blue tint pair of shades sat atop his round nose. His unkempt hair spilled out around the edges of a baseball cap that matched his vest in brightness and hue. If Jimmy had needed to guess, he would have thought the man has just stumbled out of the woods after a long hunting trip. 
 
 The man hustled across the frozen fifty yards between the factory door and the gate, which began to swing open as he arrived. 
 
 The group looked at him expectantly, eager to get inside and out of the cold. 
 
 The man said nothing for a bit, examining the men, women, and children assembled before him, the said in a low and gruff voice, “ Present your tickets please. ” 
 
 The children of the group all stepped forward and held out their hands. A golden bullet sat in the palm of each hand. 
 
 The man smiled, took a step to the side and gestured towards the factory, ushering them in through the gate. 
 
 “ Welcome to Smith & Wesson, world famous firearms manufacturer! ” the man said with a flourish of his hand. 
 
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 After being lead inside, the huge door swinging shut behind them, they found themselves standing in a long corridor. 
 
 Feeling a bit more comfortable, one of the assembled group, Jimmy did n't see which because he was studying the strange man who ’ d greeted them, asked, “ Well, where is it? ” 
 
 “ Where ’ s what? ” there guide responded. 
 
 The man who ’ d spoken stepped forward from the group, “ Our life time supply of ammunition? That ’ s what the message engraved on the side of those golden shells said. We meet you here, and we get buncha free shells. ” 
 
 The guide smiled and took his shades off, placing them on the brim of his hat. His eyes were green with streaks of gold in the iris. 
 
 “ Oh, but my dear fellow, that is but a tiny portion of the prize you won! Before we get to the free ammunition, you get a tour of our world famous factory floor! ” he gestured down the hall and began to walk. The group followed, not seeing a real choice in the matter. 
 
 The guide continued, “ You can call me Wess, by the way. I took that name when I inherited this factory, ” he grinned back over his shoulder at the frowning faces that followed, “ No outsiders have seen inside since, making this a very exciting day! ” 
 
 Wess reached the far end of the hallway and threw open the door, again ushering the group through. 
 
 Beyond was a vast room, the far wall was farther than Jimmy could see, and it was filled with long rolling dunes of black sand, constantly being pushed back and forth by gigantic fans on either side of the room. 
 
 The group stared in wonder, both at the shear scale of the room, and the bizarre contents as they stood on a small raised platform. 
 
 Wess waved his hand at the dunes in a grandiose fashion, “ This here is our powder mixing room! Over three hundred- “ Wess whipped out a.44 Magnum from beneath his orange vest and fired at the edge of the platform, a small shriek erupting from a struck target, as the group of visitors recoiling toward the door in horror. 
 
 Wess slid the weapon back into his holster, “ Damn rats, ” he muttered, and then turned his attention back to the cowering group of visitors and continued on his remarks unfazed, “ Over three hundred fans oscillate the powder back and forth across the room! No one else in the world does it this way! It gets the grain size just right so all the ammunition we produce fires in an almost one hundred percent, reproducible fashion! ” 
 
 Wess grinned at the group, as its terrified members processed this information. 
 
 One member spoke, “ Powder. You mean this black stuff is gun powder? ” their eyes going a bit wide. 
 
 Wess nodded, “ Best in the world! ” 
 
 He urged the group forward, waving his arm, “ Go on kids! Fill your pockets! You can pack your own rounds when you get home! ” 
 
 The kids looked at Wess, his eyes glinting with what could only be madness, then one little girl pointed at the fans, “ Hey! Who are those weird, tiny, people behind the fans! ” 
 
 Wess turned and looked, almost like he was curious as well, then after a second he said, “ AH! I see you've spotted one of our best kept secrets here! You see, back before I inherited the company, I use to spend months on expeditions into the Appalachians looking for Squatch. Right after the courier carrying the message informing me of my inheriting this fine factory, I stumbled upon a whole village of the little guys! They knew if I could find them, so could others, and not wanting to ruin their beautiful culture, I invited them to live here with me in the factory! ” 
 
 “ Wait, Bigfoot? Bigfoot works here at Smith and Wesson? ” asked a woman, her voice shrill in either disbelief or maybe just the desire to escape this new and bizarre hell she ’ d found herself in. 
 
 Wess waved at the distant fan operators and said, “ Little feet would be more accurate, ” he laughed at his own joke and looked at the group, “ You know, cuz their small and there ’ s a lot of them? ” 
 
 A man spoke, “ I thought Bigfoot was, well, big? ” 
 
 “ Oh, no. No no no, ” said Wess, shaking his head, “ If they were big then everyone would have found them. They ’ re small so they can hide better, ” he smiled and nodded as if he'd explained everything. 
 
 “ Now into the powder kids! ” Wess pushed the nearest child into the gunpowder sands and looked at the others with a huge, almost menacing smile. 
 
 The group waded into the sand, not wanting to upset their conceal and carry guide, a few actually loading powder into their pockets. Jimmy, disliking the feel of the powder filling his cheap shoes waded closer to the fans where the powder thinned. 
 
 From there he watched as one of the younger kids took a small bite of the gun powder. He started to wretch and the child ’ s parent rushed to help, but before they could wade up the black dune, a Squatch in snow shoes appeared and rescued the boy. 
 
 Jimmy watched as the boy and his parent were taken away, as several hundred Squatch, appearing from nowhere in particular and launched into an amazingly choreographed song and dance piece. 
 
 Jimmy could n't hear what they were singing, the fan's loud roar behind him and Squatch being rather far away, but he though he made out some lyrics about the folly of tasting nitrite compounds. He did n't care though. The gunpowder was burning his nostrils and he just wanted to go home. The Squatch had faded back to wherever they ’ d come from. 
 
 Wess spotted him and waved at him, calling him back. Several coal black camels with saddles were slowly coming over the dunes. 
 
 -- - 
 
 It continued on for hours like that. The group shepherded from one room of absurdities to the next by Wess. First there was a thunderous shooting gallery manned by trained owls. 
 
 “ Can ’ t beat the eyesight on these guys! They can hit a field mouse at a thousand yards! ” he ’ d said. 
 
 One little girl had picked up a handgun and subsequently been mobbed by owls. The Squatch had reappeared and sang a song about proper trigger discipline. 
 
 The next room had contained a massive salt water tank. Inside a team of narwhals took turns corkscrewing across the aquarium, driving their horns into long steel cylinders, boring them out. 
 
 “ No one knows more about proper barrel rifling than a narwhal! ” Wess had said, slapping the side of the tank, “ Just look at those perfect grooves! You can only do that if you have a perfectly twisted horn like these fellas! ” 
 
 Another little boy fell into the tank there. He was almost skewered by one of the narwhals, but was instead fished out by a Squatch in scuba gear. 
 
 They ’ d only sung about work place safety and watching your step that time, which had seemed lazy to Jimmy, but he was n't about to criticize the tiny creatures disappearing children. 
 
 For hours the tour went on, finally reaching a point where Jimmy, now exhausted both physically and emotionally from the horrors of the factory, was n't even paying attention anymore, he just wanted out of this insane place. He wished he ’ d never found that golden bullet in his dad ’ s hunting supplies! 
 
 Suddenly, Wess was standing in front of him, “ Well, that concludes our tour! I hope you had a wonderful time here at Smith and Wesson, and we hope you ’ ll enjoy your life time supply of S & W ammunition! ” 
 
 Jimmy looked around. He was standing back outside the main factory door. He was the only one left. 
 
 Wess smiled down at him for a bit, then put his blue tinted shades back on and said, “ Well, Goodbye! ” and disappeared back into the darkness as the door slid shut. 
 
 Jimmy looked left and right. Next to him was a large stack of ammunition boxes as tall as himself of all different calibers. 
 
 Weary and shell shocked, he sat down and watched the snow pile up on the boxes. 

