Rupert Simpson

December 11, 2011
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Patrick Smith was a machinist for Ford Motor Corp. He lived in Flat Rock Michigan, married, with one daughter, Amy. Due to the downturn in the economy, Patrick was now cyclically unemployed. In an urgent plea to his boss, Aaron Smithfield, Patrick practically offered his soul for some type of job. His begging got him nowhere, so he was forced to do something that would change his family forever. Patrick told Mr. Smithfield that his daughter Amy could turn regular, old, white copy paper into hundreds of billions worth in legal tender. Smithfield was amazed and informed the head of Ford, Lewis Booth. Booth immediately requested Amy be sent to his penthouse apartment in New York City. In a desperate attempt at making money, Patrick convinced his family to send Amy to NYC.

Amy arrived at Mr. Booth’s apartment early the next morning. He locked her in a large, bland room with one small window and 600 stacks of copy paper reaching the ceiling. He told her that she had three days to turn the paper into 500 billion dollars or he would “dispose” of her and her family quick and cheap. As hard as she tried, Amy could not change one square inch of paper into any sort of currency. At precisely midnight a small man with pointy ears appeared from behind one of the enormous piles of paper. He offered to create two billion dollars out of the paper in exchange for her iPhone 4Gs. “But I just got the update.” Amy shrugged. Eventually, she agreed and as soon as she could ask how he would do it, the little man was gone and two hundred billion dollars sat in front of her.

Mr. Booth came in the next morning to check her progress and was surprisingly satisfied. Amy kept trying to change paper into money, but could not achieve the impossible feat. She was still three hundred billion short and had only two more days to come up with it. She decided to take a nap. “Maybe some rest will allow me to find a way to make some money.” She thought to herself. At exactly midnight the little man woke her up. He offered to create another two hundred million in exchange for her Vera Bradley bag. Again, she agreed and the little man disappeared and another two million dollars covered adorned the floor.

The next morning Mr. Booth came in, again, to check her progress and was so impressed he decided to treat her to breakfast. He had his private cook prepare them a four-course brunch accompanied with some champagne with some little berries in the bottom of the glass. Amy had never experienced such luxury. They conversed for well over two hours and there was an obvious attraction. Mr. Booth then, swiftly sent her back to the isolated room to finish making the last one hundred billion dollars. “Remember what awaits you and your family if you fail me.” Mr. Booth said before locking the door. And yet, Amy could not create any money. She tried and tried, but nothing came of it. She hoped the mysterious little man would make one final appearance. Then, like clockwork, a twelve midnight on the dot the small man came to make one last transaction. Amy had nothing left to offer him, so he told her he would come up with the last one hundred billion dollars if she would relinquish her first-born son to him. Amy had no choice. She agreed to the deal and once again, the little man was gone and she had her five hundred billion dollars waiting for Mr. Booth.

Amy was freed the next day and Mr. Booth was pleased. So pleased, in fact, that he decided to marry Patrick’s daughter. They both lived happily and Mr. Booth financially aided the Smith family to keep Amy from worrying. After two years Amy and Lewis had their first son, Winston Booth. Winston was the soul heir to the Booth fortune. When Winston was only a week old the little man came back to visit Amy while Lewis was at work. He reminded her of their deal. He wanted the baby. Amy resisted and begged and begged for him to take anything besides Winston. She even offered the entire Booth fortune, any property they owned, and any possession they had owned. The little man did not want any money or possession of theirs. He made Amy another deal. “If you can guess my name in the next three days I will leave your family alone forever. But if you do not come up with my name at the end of three days then I will take your precious little Winston away.” Amy had no choice and she agreed to the deal, but she contacted her lawyer before making any binding contract with a mythical being. Amy and the little man had to fill out an 11FGR48 form. The deal was set to enslave the little man on the assembly line at Ford if Amy guessed his name or Amy would have to relinquish Winston if she could not accomplish the challenge.

The little man came back the first two days and Amy could not guess his name. “Remember our deal.” He said, and then left. However, on the second day he did not use his fancy vanishing act and simply left on foot. Amy managed to track him back to where he resided without being detected. She tracked him all the way back to his dilapidated tent in betwixt the other “99 Percenters” in Zuccotti park. “That explains the Guy Fawkes mask I’ve seen in his back pocket.” Amy thought to herself. Apparently an infant would permit the man to obtain financial aid to help get him out of his economic crisis. She waited, hidden behind a pile of garbage bags to see if she could figure out his name. Around eleven pm the man started dancing around a small fire he made out of old pickets and cardboard. He then proceeded to sing a little song:

Today I earn, tomorrow I make;
And then the heir child I will take;
For no one knows my little game;
That Rupert Simpson is my name!

She found his name! Rupert Simpson. Amy sprinted home and waited up all night for Rupert to come looking for Winston. In the morning Rupert came knocking at the apartment door. Amy invited him in and offered him a tea or coffee. He declined and took a seat on the enormous white leather sofa in the living room. Then Rupert confidently asked, “So, have you guessed my name yet?” Amy quickly exclaimed, “Yes! Rupert Simpson!” Rupert’s jaw dropped to the floor. He was awestruck. Nobody had ever guessed his name in over 500 years. But Rupert was a man of his word and stuck to the deal. The Booth’s kept Winston and Rupert worked in the Ford factory, as a machinist for the remainder of his life, about 350 years. And since the Booths were in the One percent, they lived happily ever after.

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