Once upon a time, in a village far, far away, there lived an Idiot.
One day he disappeared off the face of the planet.
All the people in the village were concerned and dismayed. He'd wandered away from time to time but always managed to find his way back (which is saying something as far as idiots go). This time however, many, many, many, many days passed with no sign of the beloved Idiot.
The people of the village decided to form a search party thinking even if he was not found in favorable condition (aka - alive), at least they would know his fate and feel closure.
They searched all the places he was know to frequent. The snotty coffee-house tavern just outside the village, the elfin bike shop deep in the forest and the witches of hair restoration in the mountainside caves. Alas, no Idiot.
The village people eventually gave up all hope of finding him. There were many theories of what may have happened to him - he found a ring, became obsessed with it and moved to middle earth, he may have been mistaken for a Hari Krishnas and returned to their remote commune, he may have been poisoned by bananas, he might have been caught in the great llama stampede
- but the truth was never known.
As years past, his story (with all theories combined) became that of legend, told around campfires to frighten children about the perils of being an idiot and straying from the village.