Ronald Frump was a rich tycoon, who profited from hostile corporate takeovers, often evicted hundreds of people at once from their Manhattan apartments to make way for his building projects, and was known for his ruthless firing policies. He also cheated on his income taxes, and had little concern for the safety and welfare of his employees, as long as his profit margin was maximized. He had no use for philanthropic endeavors, and was curt to any who would solicit his goodwill on behalf of the poor. You get the picture.
Even the only remotely charitable act by Mr. Frump was really self-serving. He was in a hurry to get to yet another hostile takeover meeting, and on his way he gave a paper boy a dollar bill for a 50-cent newspaper. Not wanting to wait for the boy to fish out the other 50 cents, he bruskly said, "Don't worry about it. Keep it."
So Mr. Frump finally died, and found himself before the Pearly Gates. Having been used to a sense of entitlement his whole life, he approached St. Peter and, rather presumptuously said, "Well, it's me - Ronald Frump. You can let me in now."
"Well, hold it just a second, here, Mr. Frump," replied St. Peter. "I'm looking in the books here, and it seems you've been a pretty greedy fella all your life. You've run people out of their homes, you've robbed from the poor, you've made life miserable for everyone with whom you've had contact. Now, in light of that, can you think of any reason why I should let you into this holy place?"
Mr. Frump was in a panic. This was the first time he did not have the upper hand in a "negotiation," and this was for all the chips. In his panic, he grasped at the only straw available to him. "Well, once I gave a paper boy a dollar for a 50-cent newspaper, and told him to keep the change." St. Peter scratched his chin as he puzzled over this for a few seconds, and finally said, "I'd better run this one past God. Wait right here."
Mr. Frump was on pins and needles as he waited. Finally, St. Peter returned. "Well?" St. Peter took his hand, placed two quarters in it, and said, "The Lord said to give you your 50 cents back and tell you to go to hell!"
Even the only remotely charitable act by Mr. Frump was really self-serving. He was in a hurry to get to yet another hostile takeover meeting, and on his way he gave a paper boy a dollar bill for a 50-cent newspaper. Not wanting to wait for the boy to fish out the other 50 cents, he bruskly said, "Don't worry about it. Keep it."
So Mr. Frump finally died, and found himself before the Pearly Gates. Having been used to a sense of entitlement his whole life, he approached St. Peter and, rather presumptuously said, "Well, it's me - Ronald Frump. You can let me in now."
"Well, hold it just a second, here, Mr. Frump," replied St. Peter. "I'm looking in the books here, and it seems you've been a pretty greedy fella all your life. You've run people out of their homes, you've robbed from the poor, you've made life miserable for everyone with whom you've had contact. Now, in light of that, can you think of any reason why I should let you into this holy place?"
Mr. Frump was in a panic. This was the first time he did not have the upper hand in a "negotiation," and this was for all the chips. In his panic, he grasped at the only straw available to him. "Well, once I gave a paper boy a dollar for a 50-cent newspaper, and told him to keep the change." St. Peter scratched his chin as he puzzled over this for a few seconds, and finally said, "I'd better run this one past God. Wait right here."
Mr. Frump was on pins and needles as he waited. Finally, St. Peter returned. "Well?" St. Peter took his hand, placed two quarters in it, and said, "The Lord said to give you your 50 cents back and tell you to go to hell!"
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