In a world where laughter is outlawed, underground comedy clubs become the ultimate act of rebellion.
“There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.”
–- Erma Bombeck
Well, it's almost time, and many, many consider it no laughing matter but I'm slightly ahead of myself, one might say.
See, what had happened was, I had a physics paper published that was, in actuality, a joke. I thought I had it subtly obfuscated enough, that the authorities wouldn't notice. I was wrong. Dead wrong, in fact. From what I pieced together at the Mirthful Myth, my neighborhood jokeasy and writer's group hangout, that somehow, someway, the article got sent to a member of the national Congress, who read it aloud in committee to a response of several chuckles. This led it to being sent to the high court where, not only did they all laugh, but two members wet their robes! Or so it is rumored.
As everyone knows, when chuckling gets one fined and laughing out loud gets one serious time, being found guilty of causing such laughter gets one the death penalty: hanging from the neck until dead on "live" simulcast.
I've got one last act of defiance planned. If I worked out the physics correctly, and I always have, I'll be decapitated instead, which is a huge no-no for law enforcement agencies in the "free" world. My wish was to defenestrate myself, but what's one to do? I've declined the hood, and will do my best to smirk, if not grin maniacally, when it happens. I just have to jump at the exact moment necessary to generate maximum force when I reach the end of my rope.
Timing is everything, as they say.
Writing Time Friday prompt by
https://getfreewrite.com/
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