Jack the Lad

There once was a young lad called Jack. Now, Jack was a beast. Indeed, he seemed to have it all. The looks, the brains, the athletic ability. He also had a damn fine sister, but that's another story. Anyway, despite everything Jack had, there was one thing he didn't have. Rocket boots. Without rocket boots, how could he be satisfied with life? No man could. Truly, Jack was in a predicament. However, Jack had a plan, and 60% of the time, Jack's plans worked every time.

Anyway, rocket boots aren't a thing so Jack couldn't buy them. There was only one option, he had to make them. But because rocket boots are pretty much impossible with current technology, he was having a lot of trouble figuring it out. Hey, maybe that's why they aren't a thing. Tony Stark may have managed it in a cave but he's a fictional character, and this shit is legit. So now you can truly understand the difficulties Jack faced. He tried and he tried and he tried, but all his prototypes failed. Jack began to despair. But like one of his good friends once told him, perseverance is the key. Anyway, rocket boots.

It was only as Jack strapped a bottle of diet coke to a rollerblade and looked at the mentos in his hand that he realised, his plans were kind of shitty. He needed a real scientist. So he packed up his bags and went to America to dig up Einstein's body. This was another awful plan because Einstein was cremated. In fact, so far, Jack's failed to demonstrate his intelligence in any signficant way. But then it all changed. Using an ash-magnet, Jack drew together Einstein's ashes into a pile. He got a Voodoo priest to take Einstein's soul from his ashes and transfer it into a chicken. Now, this was fairly weird because souls don't exist and wouldn't even make sense, and Voodoo priests don't do that jazz. But this story is about one man's quest to build rocket boots by binding a Jew's soul with a chicken, so it's safe to say it's pretty factual.

Anyway, Chicken-Einstein set to work to build Jack his rocket boots. It was a difficult task considering he had no hands, let alone thumbs, but he kept at it. When he was complete, he presented them to Jack. Upon seeing his life's dream completed, Jack found himself with an enormous erection. Sadly, it did not last. You see, with his life perfect, he had nothing to strive for. Jack cruised and cruised and cruised on his rocket boots, staring at his huge erection, each day bringing him more down. Until after a week or so, suicide seemed like the only option.

It's a sad end to such a great tale, but our lad Jack took his own life. His rocket boots were stolen, but whoever possessed them did not do so for long, for they were murdered, and had the boots taken from them. The boots followed this bloody path of violence and murder for many years, before eventually being lost at sea. And that, my friends, is why we don't have rocket boots.