By: Sydney Vincent
It was in the city of New York that there lived a rich family named the Frumps, who lived atop of their large apartment building in the most grandiose suites known to man, overlooking the lights and streets below. The father, Donald Frump, was a successful entrepreneur with the most luscious golden locks and smooth tan complexion. His most prominent feature was his eloquent speech, and his kind words among his friends and enemies.
The mother, Melanie, was a former Slovenian model, who, after marrying Donald, became an American citizen, but then realized that her husband could not stand immigrants. By then, it was too late, for Donald had become the United States’ president and her country needed a strong, independent, American woman to stand next to him in office. She was ready to stand and take that role as America’s First Lady.
Their daughter, Ivanna, was the fairest girl in the city, her face plastered on billboards and across magazines. Her natural blonde locks, much like her father’s, swooped down onto her shoulders. When she walked down the streets, cameras would flash and she would strut down the sidewalk, parting the crowds like Moses. Her intelligence matched her beauty, her loquaciousness just as wonderful and smooth as her father’s.
In the golden apartment high above, a young man by the name of Baron Frump had lived with the family since birth, his own mother abandoning him in a Burger King1. Melanie, who refused to have a child with Donald, took the child and raised him as a Frump; the child took after the two of them enough to convince the public. This knowledge remained a secret in the family, Baron never knowing of his lack of relation, until one night in his teenage years.
In these younger years, Donald hired a professor and priest to teach the children. His name was Father Barry O. Bama2, a man of infinite knowledge and wisdom. He preached of God and how the world they lived was the best of all possible worlds3, no matter the circumstances, with a passion like no other. His face was kind, a small pair of spectacles resting on his brown nose, constantly being pushed up. After a few years, Father Bama and Mr. Frump ran into differences about Mr. Frump’s tax returns that remained a secret amongst everyone, just like Baron’s origin.
“You’re fired,” were the last words Mr. Frump ever spoke to Father Bama. So, Father Bama left, never to be seen again.
One night, during Baron’s 13th birthday party at the sacred apartment, Ivanna pulled him aside.
“Baron, I need to tell you something important.”
“Okay?” Baron was confused but awaiting her next words with bated breath.
“You’re adopted.”
“You’ve told me that before and I am getting tired of these jokes.”
“No, Baron, I’m serious.”
“Stop, Ivanna.”
“You’re adopted.”
Baron lost his smile and stood there silent as his sister just touched his shoulder and walked away, unsure of how to console him. Enraged and saddened by this news, Baron stormed away from the party, Mr. Frump too interested in a woman with blonde hair and a thunderous porn-star name4 to care about his son. Baron fled to the streets, never wanting to return to that tower of black and gold. As he walked, he passed numerous people crying, people in alleys smoking unknown substances, homeless men and women sitting on the side of the road sleeping away their troubles. These sights troubled Baron and made him question the wonderful beliefs Father Bama had taught him all those years before that he cherished so deeply.
He should’ve known the truth all along, he thought. He didn’t have the luscious blonde hair. That should’ve been the sign.
As Baron trudged along, a young woman began to follow him, eventually pushing him into a dark alleyway, where he was beaten to a pulp with protest signs that said, “Love Trumps Hate.” After he regained some strength, Baron continued to walk along the lonely streets, putting the red baseball cap Mr. Frump had gifted him on to hide the cuts and scrapes on his face. As he entered Times Square, hoping for help, a few only took out their phones to get a picture with the son of President Donald Frump. Baron did so reluctantly. A little bit away, Baron could hear a man preaching the word of God. As he got closer, he noticed a black man standing on a cardboard box, his straggly beard rustling with every enthusiastic word he preached.
“Father Bama?” Baron approached the man on the box.
“Baron? Why are… you bloodied up? Why’re… you here?” the two embraced as Father Bama questioned him in his slow drawl and broken up sentences that Baron fondly remembered him for.
“I left the apartment after I was told that I was adopted! But none of that matters now, for I have found you! I thought I would never see you again! You have given me the hope of a lifetime that we truly live in the best of all worlds.”
“Yes, uh, yes, we do! Although… I have not been employed since Mr. Frump, uh, dismissed me and, uh, all of the Catholic churches I know are closing and, uh, all of the schools I have called to teach at have given me no response, especially the elementary schools5, I am left to preach the word to strangers on this here Square. But just think… it could be worse! Hallelujah and, uh, amen!”
“Excuse me, sir? I’m going to need you to step down from there and come with me down to the station. This was your last warning. You can’t be causing a public disturbance like this,” a police officer said, his stature proud and tall, the dark blue of his uniform contrasting to the paleness of his skin, his nametag engraved with the surname “Pence.”
“But, sir, uh, you cannot… silence the word of God!”
“Sir, please come down from there.”
“No, I will… not come down. For the higher we stand… the closer to God we are and the higher we are in the best world possible!”
The police officer grabbed Father Bama’s arm and he fought back to stay on his box. The two began to wrestle and Officer Pence pulled out his, the officer dragging Father’s limp body into the car and driving away6. Everyone stopped filming and went about their day7.
Baron picked up the rosary and the money Father Bama had earned. As he began to walk again, the news ribbon outside of Good Morning America read:
Frump Family Brutally Murdered in Home after Party, Daughter Kidnapped, Son Missing
“Unfortunate, isn’t it? Good people dying everywhere,” a man in an old military jacket holding a black garbage bag in his dirty hands.
“They were my family,” Baron stated, “I’m Baron Frump, I found out they adopted me and then I ran away.”
“Hm,” the man grunted, “I’m Private Blinton8. Wish someone would adopt me. I haven’t had a home in thirty years, since the war9. And my wife’s out doing God knows what.”
“This is horrible,” Baron perked up suddenly, “But, this isn’t the end of the world. Maybe we can find Ivanna! We may truly live in the best of all possible worlds after all.”
“You’re a dumb kid, aren’t ya? She was kidnapped by killers. Can’t you read?”
“A slight chance is enough for me! She is still my sister. Will you come Private Blinton?”
“Can we sleep somewhere warm first and get something to eat, too?”
“Sure thing, my new friend!”
The next morning after staying in a lovely Motel 6, the two walked to the closest McDonalds to order as much food as they could while saving a few bucks for their travels. When they arrived at the cash register, an older man, freshly shaven, with falling spectacles on his nose asked what they would like.
“Father Bama? What’re you doing here? I thought you were dead!”
“Oh, no, Baron! The power of God, uh, brought me back to life10! For when they were about to… cut me open on the table last night, I… awoke, scaring the coroner, and he let me go! I needed some food and money, so I… came here. It’s a wonderful time. First job I’ve had in years! I could… really make a career out of this! What did I, uh, tell you? We live in the best of possible worlds!”
“You work at a McDonalds…” Private Blinton snipped back.
After they ate, Baron invited Father Bama to find Ivanna Frump. As Private Blinton asked his fellow homeless veterans about the whereabouts Ivanna Frump, the news revealed that the plot against her family was done by an uprising of poor people from the slums, who all had those “Love Trumps Hate” posters in their front yards. After days of interrogation and Private Blinton and Father Bama discussing faith and God, the trio gathered enough information to find Ivanna from bribing the poor with food stamps and some drugs Private Blinton had in his pockets from his own days of dealing.
“I promise you; I did not have illegal relations with these drugs11.” Private Blinton clearly gave away the last of his drugs and pocketed a little money.
With that information, they traveled down to the slums of the city, abandoned warehouses lining the cobbled streets. They took a taxi that was driven by an older woman named Ruth12, her gaze hardened by a long life that had passed her. They arrived along the side of a warehouse that Private Blinton’s fellow soldiers had told him about, and they entered cautiously.
“Police! Hands up!” Private Blinton entered a backroom with his hand propped in his pocket. The men backed up in confusion and fright, taking the girls they had in their arms and putting knives to their throats.
Private Blinton spoke quietly and traded a small bag of white powder and the men pushed Ivanna over, pouncing on the baggie.
“Oh, I am so happy to hold you, Ivanna! I was so scared that I lost you! I am so sorry for running away.”
“We should leave… go somewhere safer,” Father Bama proposed. The trio and Ivanna managed get out of the warehouse and into the taxi where Ruth was doing a sudoku while listening to classical music on the radio.
“Who’s this lovely lady?” Ruth asked.
“This is Ivanna, my sister,” Baron replied triumphantly.
“I have an idea where we can go. I haven’t been there in years; it was where our father would spend his business trips. He only took me once when he was babysitting me, but I am sure that I can figure it out. It will be safe. Very nice workers there.” Ivanna offered.
The trio, Ruth, and Ivanna drove on as Ivanna recounted her horrible plight with the drug lords.
“Oh, Baron,” Ivanna dug her crying face into his shoulder.
“What is wrong, my dear sister?”
“They did horrid things to us girls. I can’t even speak of it! I tried to escape, and they caught me and injected me with a drug that had no effect, but they said it ‘would soon.’ I am so scared, Baron!”
“But you are safe now!” Baron held his sister closer.
“Yes, uh, you are!” Father Bama took off his McDonalds apron and wrapped Ivanna in it, “For you are… in the best of all possible worlds that God could have created!”
“Enough with that ‘best of all worlds’ crap, Mr. Reverend. What about the rest of the girls? Sure, God saved this one, but the devil’s only going to kill the others now13,” Private Blinton said and then whispered to Ivanna, “Do you think you could hook me up with one of those girls? The youngest one there? I think I heard that her name was Monica14, am I right?”
“God will… save the rest, don’t you, uh, worry.” Father Bama interjected and began to pray.
“Sure, He will…” Private Blinton scooched over to the window and gazed out, lost in his thoughts about Monica.
Ivanna continued to tell of her plights, feeling woeful and sad, Baron comforting his sister.
“My darling, quit your crying. You have no idea what this world’s like. You’ve only had a taste of a few days. I was given up for foster care at birth, sent to live with a lowlife drug addict mom and an alcoholic dad, had to walk to school uphill in the snow both ways15, never went to college, was a prostitute for a while, was shot three times and lived, gave birth to my only son, married an abusive man and divorced him, haven’t seen my son in eighteen years, and, now, drive a taxi for a living and live in a motel room. Try me, honey16.”
Baron, Ivanna, and Father Bama sat dumbfounded and silent for the next hours as the radio played cheerful eighties music.
They arrived at a Playboy Mansion where Mr. Frump had spent his business trips at. Ruth, Ivanna, and Baron complained about it but Private Blinton and Father Bama gave the workers plenty of things to do. The mansion was nestled on the California coast and the owner of the mansion, named Hugh17, agreed that they would gladly take in any Frumps because of the business that Mr. Frump always brought.
The next days consisted of wondering what their lives would be like in the coming years. Father Bama wandered into the nearby town and found a church that was in need of a priest and gladly took the position. Martin found a job in a local grocery store bagging at the cash register and Ruth continued to drive her taxi around. Baron and Ivanna stayed at the mansion and took care of the land the mansion sat on. Not many of the workers worked outside much, only in the bedrooms. They must be maids, Baron thought.
However, Ivanna grew increasingly irritable. Her mood became hostile towards Baron as they spent their days in the mansion. One morning, Baron awoke to Ivanna sleeping next to him on the bed and shrieked in disgust. Ivanna’s beautiful face had become distorted. She was no longer the fairest girl in the city but the foulest creature of them all. Her arms were sagging with fat, her neck painted with scratch marks, and her face sprayed with scabs and zits. It was the drug they gave her, Baron concluded.
“What’re you looking at?” Ivanna asked in a growling voice.
“Oh,” Baron could not hide his revolt, “Nothing, my dear sister. Go back to sleep.”
“Dear God, she looks like my wife18, Baron,” Private Blinton mumbled to Baron in between his appointments with the workers in the mansion.
Baron eventually grew used to the hideous beast of a sister.
As the spring turned into summer, the land became overgrown with weeds, but revealed a beautiful garden, once kept by one of Hugh’s ex-wives. In this garden, Baron and the rest tended it, weeding and planting to keep themselves busy during their free time in this relaxed state of California. Seemingly, all of the people of the household were content with their lives.
One day, Father Bama, the wisest man of all men, stated, “You see, my brothers and sisters… if all of this misfortune hadn’t happened… uh, to us all, we wouldn’t… be here. Don’t you think so, Baron?”
“Excellently observed,” answered Baron, “but let us cultivate our garden19.”
Works Cited
Voltaire. Adams, Robert M. Voltaire Candide or Optimism. University of California at Los Angeles. W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. 1991.
De Boer, Wietse. “The Catholic Church and Sexual Abuse, Then and Now.” Origins, origins.osu.edu/article/catholic-church-sexual-abuse-pope-confession-priests-nuns.
González, Felipe. “Drug Trafficking Organizations and Local Economic Activity in Mexico.” PLoS ONE, vol. 10, no. 9, Sept. 2015, pp. 1–10. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0137319.
Keeling, Mary, et al. “Exploring U.S. Veterans’ Post-Service Employment Experiences.” Military Psychology (American Psychological Association), vol. 30, no. 1, Jan. 2018, pp. 63–69. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/08995605.2017.1420976.
Maule, Will. “Street Preacher Wrongfully Arrested for Islamophobia Receives Payout from London Police.” ChristianHeadlines.com, Salem Web Network, 29 July 2019, www.christianheadlines.com/contributors/will-maule/street-preacher-wrongly-arrested-for-islamophobia-receives-payout-from-london-police.html.
Payne, Ed. “’Burger King Baby’ Reunites with Birth Mom after Facebook Quest.” CNN, Cable News Network, 26 Mar. 2014, www.cnn.com/2014/03/26/us/pennsylvania-burger-king-baby-reunion/index.html.
Shu, Qin, et al. “The Impact of Computer Self-Efficacy and Technology Dependence on Computer-Related Technostress: A Social Cognitive Theory Perspective.” International Journal of Human-Computer Interaction, vol. 27, no. 10, Oct. 2011, pp. 923–939. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1080/10447318.2011.555313.
The Bible. New International Version. Biblica Inc. 2011.