Tag Archives: short story

The Sad Story of Ronald Frump

3 Dec

Once upon a time, there lived a sad little boy named Ronald Frump.

Ronald Frump should have been happy, but for some reason, he wasn’t, and he often wondered why.

Ronald Frump was born into a wealthy family which never wanted for anything. Ronald Frump’s daddy was a powerful wizard who dressed in white robes and a pointy hat, who impressed everyone with his ability to magically set black things on fire. Ronald Frump wanted to be just like his daddy, but he didn’t know how, and that made him sad.

As Ronald Frump grew up, he tried many things to make himself happy.

Ronald Frump used his daddy’s wizard gold to have many castles built for himself, but that didn’t work. Eventually, the castles all fell apart.

Ronald Frump tried to be friends with the many pretty cats that came and went around his castles, but that didn’t work: Ronald Frump would grab the pretty cats without asking them first, and this would make them very upset. Especially the kittens.

Ronald Frump tried to make a school where people could learn to be like him. He called it Frump University, or FU, but the people who were interested in learning weren’t as smart as he was, Ronald Frump thought. He took their gold and ran away, but it didn’t make him happy.

Ronald Frump even tried to be a star, but though he shone as hard as he could, everyone laughed at him.

Poor Ronald Frump.

Time passed, and Ronald Frump grew from a sad little boy into a sad little old man. All the cats and castles and gold could not make him happy.

Ronald Frump tried to make himself happy by learning his daddy’s wizard magic, but he had no talent for it. All he could do was use his gold to command people to set black things on fire for him. Ronald Frump seemed to really hate black things. And brown things. And anything else that was the wrong color. I wonder why?

One day, Ronald Frump saw something that he was sure would make him happy: a big white house at the top of the world! All of his gold and all of his castles couldn’t compare to owning a big white house at the top of the world. Ronald Frump wanted it badly.

So Ronald Frump tried to buy the big white house at the top of the world.

When he was told that it wasn’t for sale, Ronald Frump threw tantrums to anyone who would hear, screaming about how white was his favorite color and he deserved it.

Ronald Frump’s tantrums were very funny. People came from miles around to see his funny orange face turn red. They were so funny that nobody thought very much about what Ronald Frump was saying.

Time passed. Ronald Frump was as patient as he could be, and for a while it looked like the big white house at the top of the world would never be his, but in the end, he bought that big white house at the top of the world after all.

But for some reason, Ronald Frump still wasn’t happy.

Ronald Frump didn’t realize that even with his gold, and his cats, and the big white house of his dreams, deep down he was still the sad little boy he had always been.

Ronald Frump didn’t realize that owning the big white house at the top of the world was hard work. Everyone below could see him up there and watch his every move, waiting for him to slip and fall off the edge.

Poor Ronald Frump.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY: Sometimes getting everything you want will not make you happy in the end.

THE SECOND MORAL OF THE STORY: Don’t be a sad little boy like Ronald Frump.


Spirited Debate

17 Mar

“Oh yes,” said the congresswoman, stepping forward and cracking her knuckles. “I love a good old-fashioned debate.” So she stepped into the fray with her opponent, and delivered a short, sharp opening statement to his jaw.

The senator seemed unfazed, launching right into his first argument, which slammed her first in the face, then in the stomach, and finished with overhand, ham-fisted rhetoric to her back.

Rhetoric it was, but he did have a point. The congresswoman’s retort was swift; she drove her counterpoint home with a painful rebuttal between his legs. An alternate proposal followed, which swept the senator off his feet. While her opponent was down, the congresswoman pounced upon him, seizing an opening. Her arguments pummeled him mercilessly… every defense he made crumbled under the force of her logic, and she dodged around his every attempt to get a word in edgewise.

Time to finish it. The congresswoman pulled back, took a deep breath, and brought the point home for her closing. The senator’s nose yielded the floor as he withdrew from the debate entirely, conceding to her wisdom by virtue of losing consciousness rather than furthering logical discussion.

The congresswoman smiled with triumph. “See?” she said. “And you thought debates were boring.”


21 Dec




When the end of the world came, I’m ashamed to admit that I slept through it.

Yeah, that’s right. Go ahead and laugh it up. All my friends used to tell me that I sleep like a dead man, and that nothing short of an air horn in the ear can get me out of bed. So, as it happened, I spent the night cramming for a Physics final, and when I finally finished I just passed out, face-down on my mattress.

If I had known that would be my last night on Earth, I probably wouldn’t have bothered. Hell, I would have tossed my textbooks out the window and gone down with my friends to Honeycutt’s Bar on Fifth Street to get hammered. Or maybe withdraw my savings account and hire a really expensive hooker.

But, no. Austin Proud, nerd extraordinaire, had to pass out after pulling an all-nighter and miss the grand finale. “You have to study hard,” my mother always told me. “You’ll have time to party later.” Shows how much she knows, because now she’s gone, along with my textbooks, Honeycutt’s Bar, Fifth Street, my college, my state, and everything else for that matter. If my friends knew what I had been doing during Earth’s final hours, I’m sure they would have never let me hear the end of it.

So there you have it. Austin Proud missed Armageddon due to a Physics test.

Continue reading


16 Dec


A terrible short story about terrible short stories, by BHS

It was a dark and stormy night.

            Protagonist fumed to himself as he stomped down the streets of the city of Setting, grasping his umbrella tightly. Didn’t the Author just have to start him off with the most cliché opening line in history? That alone was enough to put him in a bad mood… the first bad mood of his so-far very brief existence. His temperament did not improve as he further considered his position. Who was he, really? Where was Setting? Where did the umbrella come from? He didn’t know; he had only been created several sentences ago. All he had were his clothes, his raincoat, the umbrella, and some vague sense that there was a plot device coming up soon. Until then, he would just have to follow the Author’s direction. Realizing this did nothing to improve his mood.

Continue reading