A love bomb exploded in Jack the Inventor's face.
His heart will be disfigured, for almost eternity.
Everywhere he goes, Jack the Inventor still carries his heart in pieces, in a shoebox that belonged to the woman he believed to be his chosen one.
During a trip to the edge of the abyss, Jack the Inventor, knocked out while standing at the end of the night, forgets his heart in the back of a taxi.
Who will then find the heart of Jack the Inventor? Will we leave it to rot in the bottom of an attic? Will we sell it as an old broken toy, at a garage sale?
Could someone put it back together again and if so, if so, what would be the effects? or less secondary?
Passion is the mother of safety.
Jack the Inventor walks around with his hole in place of his heart, female ghosts pierce him. One evening with a full moon, one of them laughs like a howling wolf and Jack the Inventor feels it as a comfort.
Jack the Inventor then says to himself that certain frequencies emitted through women's laughter could soothe the shattering unease caused by the feeling of abandonment.
He then begins to seek the laughter of women as a pioneer seeks gold.
He begins to dance like the top of flesh and blood that he has always been, dancing as we fly, never slow down, tightrope, tightrope, invent, invent again so as not to fall. Bird'n'roll is born! Half rock'r'roll dance, half flapping of wings, constellation of desperate jumps destined to skim the sky!
Oh women and women's ghosts laugh like a drunken bird's gospel, it's like a pornographic Disney!
Jack the Inventor and his team of excited Platinis put the finishing touches music based on harmonized bird whistles, women's laughter, and Elvis Presley's swaying hips.
Bird'n'roll's crises multiply even in broad daylight, in supermarkets, on football fields and even at the Assembly.
Bird'n'roll spreads like a magical disease, symphony orchestras of women's laughter are set up in the four corners of the hexagon, the world championship of Bird'n'roll is launched, the world championship of buns is launched, some are even launching into the breeding of harmonicas.
Jack the Inventor opens the hospital for the great burns of love, where impatient patients plug their holes in place of the heart to great bursts of female laughter, whose erotic frequencies are skillfully mixed They listen on small headphones made available instead of traditional perfusions.
Everyone dances Bird'n'roll all day long, in the spirit Jack the Inventor begins to keep the balance but you always need more more more more more more more more...
Until the day, when the strange shoebox containing the pieces of the heart of Jack the Inventor is brought to his attention on the doormat of his burn hospital.
Who found him? Who sent it? And why?
Is it a trap? A poisoned gift? Or the only chance to live his life again?
Will Jack the Inventor even manage to open the lid before the love bomb explodes in his face again?