Everyone loves ice cream. You love it, I love it, everyone else loves it, right? Wrong.

I think, and this is just a theory, that once there was a guy who was just kind of like “meh” when it came to ice cream. I also think, ONCE AGAIN, A THEORY, that this guy wouldn’t mind if I wrote his life fucking story right here and now.

Francis Wrethnull: The Boy Who Didn’t Care For Ice Cream

Chapter One: Shitty Beginnings

Francis Wrethnull was born in the town where killing yourself was invented, a career his father hoped he would one day look into. At the age of three, his mother found out he had a slight distaste for ice cream. Heartbroken, she gently placed him in a basket then shot that basket out of a cannon. The cannon was initially pointed at the ground to ensure the monster’s demise, but as his mother was but a tiny hunchback she was forced to point the cannon up so she could reach the fuse. This event sparked a hot new craze in the town: The Good Rid Dance. Mr. and Mrs. Wrethnull were eaten by bears.

The basket flew through the sky for ten years, because that’s how hard Mrs. Wrethnull wanted her three year old son to hit the ground. He passed the time by learning how to speak to ogres. His basket eventually touched down inside a cave where he met a friendly ogre.

“Terrific, the one thing I know how to talk to!” Francis moaned as he farted harder than anyone ever has or will. “What is your name kind ogre?”

“I am Shmrek, the king of the ogres!” Shmrek bellowed. “And what shall I call you? The one who flies with baskets?!”

They laughed for five years.

“My name is Francis!”

“Well Francis, now that you are eighteen you must leave the kingdom of the ogres.”

“But Shmrek, I’m not ready to leave you and the rest of the ogres I’ve made such close ties with!” cried Francis quite cowardly.

“Well, us ogres do have a loophole for this kind of situation, but no human has ever qualified…”

“What is it Shmrek?”

Shmrek kneeled down to whisper in Francis’ ear. 

“You must dislike ice cream. Not hate it, just kind of be like, ‘meh’ when you try it.”

Francis’ eyes widened with excitement as he let out the smallest of farts. Shmrek put his friendly ogre hand on Francis’ shoulder.

“Do you dislike ice cream young Francis?”

“Yes, yes I do dislike ice cream.” Francis squealed.

“You are the first human to have answered this correctly! Oh, you must also never answer an ogre’s question. That’s rule number two. And you just broke it. Plus I’m king so you pretty much broke it double.” Shmrek removed his hand for the shoulder of the young outcast. “You are now an enemy of the ogre’s”

“But…but-“

“We ogres have no buts, just rules and clothes that fit eighteen year old boys.”

“Might I have some clothes before I leave? I have been wearing the same outfit since I was placed in that basket many years ago.”

Shmrek turned to go deeper into his kingdom and see how his subjects have been doing the last five years. He silently fought back ogre tears. “Goodbye young Francis. May you die a violent death.”

Francis spent that night outside the ogre den. He played the exchange over and over in his head. “If I’d only not answered the question! If I’d only taken out ice cream, tried it, and then expressed my dislike for it with just a simple facial expression! How could I be so stupid! Well, I better go to sleep now.”

Francis slept for three years.

CHAPTER TWO: A Boy Becomes A Man

He woke up and died.