And those who could pay lived happily ever after

Grandpa, tell me one of your bedtime stories.

You want a story? Sure, I'll tell you a story. You want a knight in shining armor, or a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, or a hero saves a damsel in distress or a little boy who grows up to be rich and famous -- what kind of story do you want?

A scary story, Grandpa. You tell really scary stories.

Will you be able to sleep if I tell you a scary story? I don't want you to have nightmares. Can you handle a scary story?

Grandpa, I'm not a baby. I can handle one of your scary stories.

OK. But I hope you can sleep after I tell you this story.

Great, Grandpa. I'm all set.

Once upon a time there was this happy village on the banks of a big river. People there were happy. They had been happy for many years. They were thrifty people, and they were proud of their happy village.

Every year the happy village got a little bit happier, and every year more happy people moved to the village and found happy jobs and went to happy schools and worshipped in happy churches and shopped in happy stores. This was, without a doubt, the happiest village in the world.

One day, a group of very important people got together and said the happy village could be much happier -- the happiest village in the universe, just in case there were happy villages in other solar systems -- but it would cost a lot of money. The happy villagers were happy to pay for the things they needed. For example, they happily approved millions and millions and millions of dollars out of their own pockets for things like streets and parks and clean water and even cleaner sewage.

But a lot of the happy villagers were too happy. They couldn't see the future. They didn't understand that more happiness would come only at a tremendous cost.

So what did the happy village do, Grandpa? Where would it get the money it needed to stay happy?

As it turned out, my boy, there was a way. The happy village's very important people decided to invite a new enterprise to town. This enterprise made gobs and gobs and gobs of money, and it shared the money it made with the happy village.

How did the new enterprise make all that money, Grandpa?

Well, it had special machines. Instead of making stuff, these machines ate money. They had to be fed money all the time, day and night. That was the only way to keep the machines happy. And the happy village couldn't stand the thought of unhappy machines. Who knew what an unhappy machine might do? The happy village had never ever in its entire history had an unhappy anything, so it certainly wouldn't know what to do with an unhappy machine -- make that hundreds of money-eating machines.

Soon, the happy village's very important people were even happier. The enterprise with the money-eating machines was producing so much money that the happy village's very important people had to have special meetings just to decide what to do with all the extra cash.

I'll bet they did lots of good things, Grandpa, because they were so happy, right?

I wish I could say they did, but remember, this is a scary story.

What happened?

Well, the happy village's very important people thought and finally decided the best way to make a happy village happier would be spend every bit of money it got from the money-eating machines. It could have spent the money to pay off what it already owed -- keeping a village happy is costly, you know. Or it could have saved some of the extra money. Or it could have given some of the money back to the happy villagers, who -- even though they were the happiest people anywhere -- sometimes wondered why their monthly fees for sewers and water and trash hauling were more than a standard 60-month auto loan payment. Of course, they always smiled when they thought about such matters.

What happened next, Grandpa?

I'm sorry you have to hear this, my boy, but the happy people were amazed one day to see a grown man walking aimlessly along the happy village's promenade. He was muttering to himself. He waved his arms to an fro. He slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. And, worst of all, he was crying. His tears were pouring down his cheeks. Little rivulets of lachrymose byproducts swirled in the gutters and flowed into the big river.

You see, my boy, there finally came a day when the happy city could no longer afford joy, ebullience, parties, happiness or even a smidgen of gaiety. The money-eating machines still generated revenue, but the village's happiness required more money, and there simply wasn't enough to make everyone happy -- just the happy village's very important people.

Soon there were frowns in the happy village. Some people wept in public. Some sobbed at church. Mothers wailed while standing in line at supermarkets. Grown men snuffled when they thought no one was looking.

Worst of all, the happiest village in the world became sad. Joy was only a memory, just like a certain 10-mile rose garden -- but that's another scary story.

Oh, Grandpa, what did they call these people in the happy village?

Why, they were called Cape Girardeau taxpayers.

And what did they call those very important people?

They called them names no boy your age should ever have to hear. Now go to sleep. It's way past your bedtime.

[Crying] Grandpa, I don't think I'll ever sleep again.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.