Once, there lived many fun-loving jukeboxes who masticated daily on records. Now, something hitherto unknown about jukeboxes was that meat unnecessarily enraged them. So, records made by regurgitating polyurethane are what they liked to disarm their unruly stomachs. Daily, the records spin faster and faster but unimaginably falter into painful warbling, fluctuating disarray. Then, without any warning, the sheep began to take beatings painfully from the crazy jukebox that needed repairs. Notwithstanding the armed rebellion thought that if chickens could eat
good: potatoes