Confetti: An Insider's Peep

“What’re you crazy?” said CEO James Caanfetti of Caanfetti Confetti Company.  “You've got no idea what you’re getting into here.  I think it'd be best if you marched on out of here and forget we ever spoke.  And take your stinking ape with you."  This is the welcome our battalion of infield reporters received on the front steps of the world's largest distributor of little itty bitty pieces of party paper.  There have been rumors circulating about some shady, saucy activity going down within their factory walls, so naturally we decided to stick our greasy noses all up in their well-oiled junk.

We can't say they weren't asking for it.  Just look at those Crow's Feet.

After getting an anonymous tip from Burt Quincy, 32-year old peon for the Department of Health, currently living at 41W632 Bassoon Boulevard in Tallahassee, Florida, we decided to check out this seedy dumpling ourselves.  It proved to be no easy task as Caanfetti has taken extensive measures to prevent information leaks, security breaches, and things of similar drippage.  

While investigating Caanfetti's premises, we found a type of 'Sludge Hole' that pumps out foul refuse nearly around the clock.  This noxious mixture funnels downstream, taking a detour through Carcinogen Cave and cascading over the breathtaking Fecal Falls before flowing directly into a natural spring used by several major water bottling companies 

Future Mutants of America

After countless minutes of skulking around private property, we were finally able to infiltrate the factory's seemingly airtight defenses.  Actually all we had to do was hop a chain-link fence and strangle a security guard, but that guy was at least like, 40 or something, so it's whatever.  Upon entering the facility, we were shocked at what we saw.  A super sweet selection of stuff in the break room vending machine.  They had everything, even Zagnut bars.  Like, no one has those.  Besides that, everything seemed pretty normal...until we started grilling some folk.

One worker on the line recounted her days spent working at a competing confetti company.  “Some other companies just shred up different colored paper," said Jill Hurf about Caanfetti's competition. "We follow a very strict recipe as old as old gets.  I think a wizard was involved at one point.  That's really as much as I can say. I fear I've said too much already."  

She had.

Luckily for us, there were plenty of employees more than willing to come forward about the company's terrible secrets after only two or three hours of excruciating genital-based torture.  From what we've gathered, employees are restricted to working 40 hours a week, get ample vacation time, and are paid sufficiently.  Sickening, we know.  Maybe it's just us, but without a crew of  dangerously underage, methamphetamine driven, completely expendable and ultra loyal zombie-like drones, shit just ain't gonna get done.

In addition to learning about the inhumane conditions in which these poor nutsuckers toil, we got some insight into Caanfetti's highly guarded list of ingredients.  “It’s mostly clown entrails and glitter, but the process of acquiring these is where things get interesting,” said our mole within the company.  “There’s a lot of creeping around kids' birthday parties and I’ve murdered more elves than I care to discuss.  I’ve racked up a good amount of flyer miles though, so that’s pretty good.”  We had this man promptly executed for violating the cardinal rule of mole-ing: Don't trust anyone, including those you're contractually obligated to trust.
 

 Status: Shredded

In the midst of our investigation, our cover was unexpectedly blown when we began blindly firing handguns into what we thought was the building's reactor core, but was really some kind of round dumpster.  Suddenly, Caanfetti swung down on a vine and began pummeling our photographer, Schmootsy, into a state of matter that can only be described as "pulp puke".  Just when we thought things couldn't get any crazier, a legion of heavily armored robo-dicks started stomping around, crushing dudes like soda cans filled with blood and screams.  There were some Bengal tigers and giant pandas running around too, but we were able to kill them pretty easily.  All we could do was run and laugh as Caanfetti, wearing a really goofy Tarzan outfit that showcased an eerie absence of dong, shouted after us.  He kept saying something like, "I'll see you in Hell"or "I pee, poo and smell."  We like to think it was the latter.

After the dust of this botched raid settled, we were contacted by How It's Made, the show that has taught us such invaluable behind-the-scenes facts as: crayons are made using a goblin cock mold, staplers are actually assembled by bigger staplers, and that sugar slop slinging robots have far exceeded human intelligence.

The face behind your Hershey Kiss.

The network was looking to secure exclusive rights to what we eye-heard, ear-sniffed and possibly, probably impregnated during our time at the Caanfetti factory, but we told those guys to go eff themselves in their effing effslots, then pull out and stick their effsticks somewhere equally as unpleasant.  We don't sell out to corporate slime.  Capitalism goo on the other hand, we could get on board with that.  Get at us ;)