ENTRTNMNT Happy National Tell a Story Day! Caragh Poh

Did you know that today is National Tell a Story Day? If you are saying, “Well, listen ‘ere, love. National Tell a Story Day is celebrated on October 27th! Blimey, you’re wrong,” then you are right and also British. National Tell a Story Day in England is celebrated six months after The United States celebrates it. I don’t know when Ethiopia celebrates it, but I’m sure they have more pressing issues to deal with.

It’s easy to let a silly little holiday like this to go unnoticed. To let it pass by would not exactly create a tear in the fabric of your emotions. But to participate might put a smile on your face. In the very least, it’s nice to get the creative juices (is anyone else grossed out by that phrase? And why does it remind me of a Sisqo sex tape that I desperately hope does not really exist?) flowing. Fiction, nonfiction, short, long… it can be whatever you want. In an effort to break out of my comfort zone, I’ve decided to celebrate this holiday by writing a short fiction piece about a puppy who wants to be a professor. Harper Collins, if you want to publish this masterpiece, you know how to reach me.

Charlie Goes to School

It was the first day of classes at Stanford University. Charles sat in his seat and looked around at the other students who aspired to be a professor just like he did. He felt a sense of pride as he realized that he finally did it. He was finally here, in this seat, in this class room, at his top college. The world was his oyster.

“Trina Abadail?” Professor Rosenthal called from her attendance sheet.

“Here,” Trina said quietly as she half-heartily rose her hand in the air.

“James Allswin?”

“Mmm,” a half-asleep James mumbled from the back of the class.

“Charles… Charles Barkley?” Professor Rosenthal looked up at the classroom and adjusted her glasses.

Charles tried to raise his paw.

“Barkley? Charles Barkley?” Professor Rosenthal repeated.

Charles click-clacked his paws against the table, trying to get her attention.

“Um,” stuttered Trina. “I think… I think this is Charles Barkley,” she said, pointing at the pug.

Professor Rosenthal gave Charles a long, hard look before she cruelly laughed. “Charles Barkley, you can’t be in this class. You are a dog, Charles Barkley. A dog with a cool name, sure, but pugs can never be professors of anything except maybe Professors of Licking Butts.”

Professor Rosenthal and all of her students laughed and laughed as Charles slowly walked out of the classroom. He made it his mission to prove her wrong. He promised himself that someday he would be a professor of something other than butt licking, and on the first day of his new occupation he would fax Professor Rosenthal a picture of a middle finger. Nothing could stop him now. Except a car. And it did. Because he was run over and killed on his way back home.

Picture via Shutterstock

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  1. I will comment on this and say that I’ve been having sad dreams about Charles Barkley and this is my #1 favorite short story of all time.

    Rebecca Fernandez | 4/27/2012 12:04 pm