The door squeaks open, and a man in a 3-piece dustball enters carrying a familiar box. He looks around for the barkeep and the old drunks, and not seeing any, smiles wanly, and makes his way to Mbo's table.

"Excuse me, sir, but I couldn't help overhearing your valedictory, ave-atque-vale, vale of tears song, and thought that you might be interested, in these days of pyramiding value, in a new product!!!!" Sets box down on table, which emits a squelchy sound, and proceeds to open the side flap. "Sir!! I present to you, the new improved, Internet compatible, SAD-O-METER!!!!!Some here will remember the old mechanical version -- they of little faith -- but I have now reengineered this baby, T1-ready, and subject to listing on the NASDAQ, depending on the wisdom of the new entrepreneurial generation!"

Pulls out keyboard from box, attaches to jukebox/robotic outlet. Types furiously. Machine glows translucently. Suddenly a 3-D projection of George Jones flickers to life in front of row of barstools. Machine puffs. "He Stopped Loving Her Today" begins to play.

Yahoo, Altavista, AOL-Online seize up: all search engines vainly seek out lost loves across millions of internet lines, to no avail. Java goes cold. Internet Explorer wanders out into the night, weeping for she who comes no more, and is not heard from again. Netscape sees the barrenlandscape of the future and curls up into a whimpering ball. HTML stands for Hearts Tragically Missing Love, and dissolves into wordless grief. All are caught in a universal web of loneliness and heartbreak.

The SAD-O-METER.COM spins on. George Jones' voice breaks, comes to a halt.

"Well, sir?" says the dour figure, with a proud smile on his grey face,"What do you think?"