Imagine the scene:
A shy young rat scurries along the winter-chilled city sidewalk. He dodges bicycles with bright shiny bells and runs underfoot of delivery men dropping off Christmas packages. He shoots 'round the corner and bursts into his dilapidated home, which is constructed haphazardly within the bowels of your dilapidated home. His beady eyes blink at his family.
"I found it! The fifth golden ticket!"
Outstretched in his tiny pink paw, the rat clutches a small ticket, bearing black markings printed on shiny gold paper in a rat language we do not understand.
The rat and his grandfather sing a song about their fortunes changing, then settle in to dream excited dreams.
The next day, a rat wearing a purple hat that is actually a gumdrop gestures to the dazzling lights of New York City.
"Everything you see here is eatable, my friends. The hill on which you huddle is really a popcorn bag turned inside out. Lick up the butter my children! See that stone over there? It's a warm, sugared peanut, dropped down from that peanut cart. Would you like a bit of fluff to eat? Why, it's not fluff at all: it's a discarded clump of fresh-spun cotton candy. Yes, everything here is eatable," he says, and the young rat lunges toward a stick with a bit of blue on the end that shines like a topaz.
"Except the lollipops."