The gum ball machine industry is ripe for disruption. You’ve read about this too, I know. It’s all over the tech sites.

We’re talking the spherical, simple, usually-only-accepts-dimes-on-behalf-of-the-Lions-Club-type machine. The more elaborate machines – those with the curly ball slide and the LED lights and are shaped like a sea horse – no those are basically untouchable. Controlled by elves.

But the simple glass globe kind are bleeding potential. The first thing I’d do is make them electric. Plug them in. Leave them on all night, as a threat deterrent. And then I’d add a wrist strap. Mobile is king.

A whole other line would not dispense gum balls at all. Just fill it up with beef gravy and offer the whole thing for adoption. And whoever wins the auction, as I hand it to them I’d lean in real close, get my head right in their car, and whisper, “Stuck inside the gravy, right in the midde, is a human hand. Good luck, brother, good luck.”

Yes, going to a meeting with some angel investors tomorrow. Meeting at a spitting gallery. That’s a place where men get together and spit on things. Pay for the privilege, even.

These things happen. This is what America is now.

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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