Poor Jim

There once was a boy named Jim.

He liked to take it out on himself when he made the littlest of mistakes.

He had the purest heart but was naturally a clumsy lad.

A normal person fails but takes mistakes like grain of salt.

Jim, however, was overcritical.

In the early morning, he tossed an omelet in the air and if it fell to the ground he would bang the pan against his head.


“That’ll teach you a lesson,” he muttered.

As the typical schoolboy, he would walk to the bus stop.

Many times he arrived late and was forced to walk all the way to school.

“What was the civil war about?” asked Ms. Mgflanan.

He raised his hand so confidently, “Slavery.”

“Okay, according to who?” asked Ms. Mgflanan.

“Well, according to Americans,” he replied.

“Which Americans?” she continued.

“All of them,” he slumped in his chair.

“Well, actually southerners would disagree,” she said.

“Can someone help him out?” she asked the class.

Jim wanted to bang his head against the desk right then and there, but instead, he pinched his wrist multiple times.

His nails dripped blood, yet no one noticed.

“Southerners would say it’s about state rights,” said Dalia.

“That is right,” said Ms. Mgflanan.

“There are many interpretations. I want each of you to understand them all,” she continued.

When Jim got home he made sure to bang his head hard against the wall.

He heard a loud CRACK and after checking his forehead, figured it wasn’t anything serious.

“That’ll teach you a lesson,” he groaned.

And the next morning he hopped on the wrong bus.

Fury had engulfed him for his stupid mistake.

He banged his head against the pole.

“Stupid me,” he groaned.

“Why can’t I do anything right?”

He banged even harder.

Unfortunately, no one was around to stop him.


He heard his neck snap.

Something wasn’t right.

And all he could feel was a deep cold in his bones.

Ten feet away a young girl screamed.

“There’s a head rolling down the street!”

That was Jim’s head.

Yes, poor Jim.

Things never went right with him.









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