Stan's Place

Click here to edit subtitle

Short Story "Donny"

Donny



Donny Flute was always described as rather garish and clownish in his relationships during his time at Occidental College, but he was a bright light in the midst of Kenyan defectors. His placid skin and red comb-over made him look out of place among the more foreign students. You know, the ones with darker skin and funny names, they were surely terrorists. Donny as all the female students called him was determined to prove that he was the only American with pouty lips, but the task no doubt was daunting.


After two years he finished with an Associates’ Degree in casino management and deceptive marketing. His professors had high expectations stating if anyone could make America collectively vomit it would be Donny. The red head lived up to his expectations. It has been said that New York’s sewer system overflowed the day Donny went after the Kenyan runaways. His first target Saddam Howard Pence, but failed when he tried to borrow a nickel from Saddam and the Sheik of Indiana called him a socialist bastard. Saddam’s church The First Baptist of Funeral Shouters located in Indianapolis chastised him for using such language.


Donny made quite a name for himself after three wives, three bankruptcies, and three terrible falls out of second story windows…claimed he was shoved by certain Black Mafioso leaders, who had lent him fifty million unpaid bucks. Such notoriety earned him a television show, “America’s Next Top Gumball.” Gary Busey the actor won because he was the best at making funny faces at the audience.

Bored with being a television superstar Donald decided to run for president, but found the going tough. America I guess just wasn’t ready for a man who puckered his lips in order to look like a carp. A carp has never been president, the closest contender was “Captain Tuna” everyone called the chicken of the sea. Anyway, seems Donny decided that he wouldn’t run for president after all. Instead, he decided to run with the Coho Salmon coming out of Lake Michigan. No one’s seen him since.


The moral of the story? I couldn’t find one except don’t be carpin’ your neighbor’s wife or your buddy’s pool stick. It won’t earn you the presidency, but you probably could run for president as a Whig along with the fifteen gazillion other candidates none of whom are much smarter than a carp, most are bottom feeders anyhow. Trouble is Donny runs in the deep waters of Lake Michigan and can’t be found with a GPS if it was tied to his ass.

I think of Donny now and then whenever I hear someone playing a flute. How often do I hear someone playing that particular instrument? Never.


You’re fired Donny.