“Oh come on now Ray why you got me in a blindfold what kind of tomfoolery is this.”

“Calm down, Beef! Can’t a man be surprised on his birthday?”

“Ray you know I value the day of my birth on about the same level as D-Day or some other equally infamous day in the history of the world.”

“Retract, Beef. What in the world do those two events have in common.”

“A lot of people died both of those days and they are both hell of insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I could go on.”

“Don’t make me have to cover up your mouth too, dogg. Can’t have you party poop your own party.”

“Ain’t no party I see.”

“There ain’t nothin’ you see! You’re wearin’ a blindfold! That’s the damn point! Daaaamn!”

“Alright look see it has been like all of one single minute and we are already yellin’ at each other over party discrepancies. How about we start over. Hello. My name is Roast Beef. I am pleased to meet you.”

“Nope. Ain’t having none of that.”

“How is the weather today. I hear it is nice but this modern world prevents me from being able to take a break and look upwards at the sky.”

“Take a seat, Beef.”

“Oh well would you look at that I got a call. I have to take this you know I am a busy man.”

“Let’s make a deal. Sit down and you can take the blindfold off. Jesus.”

Beef sat down, trusting that there was a couch underneath him. There was. Ray and Beef were good enough friends to where they could yell at each other and trust each other at the same time. Some cultures call it “Yelling Trust” but for Ray and Beef it is pretty much the definition of their entire friendship. He hastily removed the blindfold to find Ray standing in front of, grinning with his mouth open.

“Are you the surprise,” Beef asked flatly, leaning over to place the blindfold on the end table neatly.

“No, chucklehead!” Ray exclaimed, moving out of the way to show a TV that displayed the title screen to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. He gestured towards it, causing Beef to raise an eyebrow.

“Dogg you know I love this movie,” Beef said without a hint of enthusiasm.

“Yeah!” Ray replied.

“And you know that I got it on DVD and VHS even. Not that a company in their right mind would produce a VCR these days but you never know when you might need it.”

Ray had stopped listening at “VHS.” “No, Beef! This is a special edition.” He winked, to emphasize the special part.

“How special are we talking. Is Gene Wilder going to come over and drink hard liquor with us.” Beef was skeptical, because he was from Circumstances.

Ray liked that idea and chided himself internally for not coming up with it. He put Gene Wilder on his List Of People To Drink Hard Liquor With and forgot about it five seconds later. “No, dogg. This is even specialer.” It wasn’t, and specialer wasn’t a word. “I made this myself, dude.”

“You what?”

“I made this myself! Me and the crew got together and made our own little remake, just for our pal Roast Beef.”

Beef was flattered. “Oh come on dogg you ain’t go to remake Willy Wonka for a dude.”

“Well, too late, man! I already did, and we’re going to watch it.” Ray plopped himself down on the sofa next to Beef. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t even watched it since we wrapped filming. This is going to be like a surprise for me, too!” Ray was visibly excited, though that is the only type of excited Ray ever knew how to express.

“Alright. I’ll bite. Hopefully this is cool and does not suck at all.”

“Give a brother some credit, Beef.” Ray slapped his chest, with both hands, twice. He repeated himself, “Give a brother some credit.” He leaned over towards the coffee table, grunting loudly and reaching for the remote. Once it was in his hands, he pointed it towards the needlessly large television triumphantly and pressed the play button.

The title faded away to reveal text that read, “Directed by Ray Smuckles.” That text faded away to reveal, “Produced by Ray Smuckles.” The opening credits then ended abruptly, as an awkwardly close shot of Pat lying on his back jumped into view. Ray was surprised; he seemed to be expecting at least five more minutes of seeing his name involved in increasingly meaningless roles. Pat seemed irked.

“Look, Pat! I don’t ask you for damn much! Read from the script!” Ray—from offscreen and not from the couch—yelled.

“Fine. Just know that I am not putting this travesty on any of my future résumés,” Pat replied coldly. “Oh, woe is me. I am put a poor youth and my large family is in dire straits. Whatever am I do to?”

Nice Pete appeared in the background as if from nowhere. His hair on both his head and his face looked much greyer than usual. “Charlie,” he whispered. “Charlie. Why don’t you take a trek to the corner shop and buy yourself a candy bar from the friendly candy man.”

“Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea, Grandfather.” Neither of them was emoting. For one, it was intentional. The other was trying as best as he could. Nice Pete faded into the background and disappeared and there was a jump cut to Pat inside a candy store.

Beef leaned over and whispered to Ray. “Dogg you have seen the original right.”

“Yeah! Course I have! I might have taken a few, you know, creative liberties, but this is one hundred percent authentic,” Ray replied, tapping his wrist for emphasis.