Happy Jim was unique among the lunatics in our fine town. He stood out not because of looks or demeanor but solely because of ability. Happy Jim was able to digest any substance. Anything. He also had enormous patience and great mechanical skill. He also had a love of music.

As a result, he methodically went from tavern to tavern, from bar to bar, slowly and carefully dismantling their jukebox music machines and eating each part. He continued on this path, day after day, until everything was gone. No more dancing, only silence.

The barkeeps actually welcomed this as they secretly hated our town and its people. They wanted retribution and got it by eliminating a primary source of the town’s musical pleasure. In many cases, shortly after Happy Jim’s work, the establishments mysteriously burned down and the owners quietly exited to Texas and Arizona, never looking back or calling.

Suffering another humiliation at the hands of the business class, the locals finally rose up and destroyed Happy Jim, the absent music no longer soothing their crude, bestial rage. The mob broke up his jaw and buried it in five separate locations and continue to mock his style of dress to this day.

We’ve since lost 18% of the population and now can only afford to keep the street lights on every other night.

Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.

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