Mr. Laughter

Mr. Laughter was the funniest man alive. Or, at least, he was when I was growing up; the last I heard, he was institutionalized, possibly lobotomized. It’s difficult to be a funny man with half a brain.<br><br>His career was long over by the time I was born. But he still lived in Hollywood, which made him seem like a celebrity to me. I’m not sure if my parents thought he was dangerous or just pitied him, but their warnings to stay away from him were just fuel for the fire, and the reason I ended up standing in his living room, shaking his hand.<br><br>I was a child then, not much older than ten, and I honestly can’t remember how I got there. But I was with Wanda, my best friend, who had just turned 12. Looking back, I think she was the one who had convinced me to do it. She had a bit of a wild streak, even back then.<br><br>We had heard rumors about Mr. Laughter, that he went crazy after performing a sketch that went too far. His comedy had always been dark, but this went beyond poor taste into the realm of sadism, and afterwards, everyone involved with the show just… snapped. The details of what happened are sketchy, since not even the most degenerate paparazzi would touch it, but the basic story goes that he had invited audience members on stage to play a game of Simon Says. Of course, they were all familiar enough with the rules to know that if he said to do something without prefacing it with “Simon says,” then they should pretend they didn’t hear it.<br><br>Simon kept telling them to do things. To hop on one foot, to touch their noses, the normal stuff. Then he told them to hop off the stage. None of them moved, as if under a spell, because he hadn’t said “Simon says.”<br><br>He had set up a small pit at the front of the stage, covered in a thin mat. The audience couldn’t see it, but the cameras caught the whole thing in grim detail. As the show went on, Simon told them to hop toward him. Then he said, “Simon says hop forward.”<br><br>They all fell into the pit, which was deep enough for them to injure themselves, and then Simon laughed maniacally as they moaned in pain. I don’t know how long it went on; the only video I was able to find cut off as soon as it happened, and I didn’t feel like watching it again. By all accounts, though, he went on for at least twenty minutes, laughing and taunting those injured people. The studio crew were in on the joke, and they went along with it, but I imagine the audience didn’t find it quite so funny.<br><br>They eventually stopped the show and called an ambulance, but the damage was done. The injuries from the fall were severe enough that several of the “players” sued Simon, and he was forced to pay out millions. I heard that a few of them never recovered, and the mental trauma - the psychological pain and suffering - wouldn’t go away with a simple settlement.<br><br>They all survived, but Mr. Laughter was done for. He was investigated for assault, and his career was ruined. We were told later, in school, that he was institutionalized for several years, and possibly even lobotomized to make him less aggressive. We didn’t know any of this at the time, though, so when we saw him standing in his doorway, we just stared.<br><br>He was a tall man, massive, with thick arms and a broad chest. His skin was red and splotchy, and he seemed to be constantly sweating. He wore a white shirt with too many buttons undone, and a pair of jeans that were too small for him; the buttons were bursting at the seams, as if at any moment they might pop and fly across the room. He had a big smile on his face, though, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned at us.<br><br>“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Billy and Wanda. What brings you two here?”<br><br>Wanda stepped forward, crossing her arms over her chest. “I heard you used to be funny,” she said. “We were wondering if you could make us laugh.”<br><br>Mr. Laughter chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that shook his chest. “Of course, of course. I’d be happy to make you laugh.” He stepped aside, gesturing for us to come in, and Wanda walked past him into the house. I hesitated for just a moment, but Mr. Laughter’s smile put me at ease; it was so warm, so comforting, that I felt safe as soon as I saw it. I followed Wanda into the house.<br><br>It was a big place, probably the biggest I’d ever been in. The high ceilings made me feel small, and the furniture was oversized, as if it were made for giants. There was a large wooden table in the center of the room, surrounded by massive chairs that towered over us. Wanda and I sat down in the two nearest chairs, our feet dangling above the ground.<br><br>Mr. Laughter walked across the room, to a large bookshelf that lined one of the walls. He pulled a book off the shelf, a leather-bound volume with gold trim, and flipped it open as he walked back to us. He sat in the chair across from us, the book open on the table, and began to read.<br><br>“Once upon a time,” he read, “there was a little boy who decided to murder his parents and burn their bodies.”<br><br>Wanda giggled. I didn’t see the humor in it, but I shrugged it off. Maybe the joke was just for her.<br><br>“In the morning, the little boy took an axe into his parents’ bedroom,” Simon went on. “They were still asleep, but as he approached them, he tripped and the axe fell onto his father’s head, splitting it open.” Simon made a *splat* sound while swinging his hand through the air, and Wanda giggled again.<br><br>I was confused. This wasn’t a joke, it was just a story. I was beginning to think that Mr. Laughter wasn’t as funny as everyone said.<br><br>Simon went on. “The little boy was shocked, but as he stood there, staring at his father’s corpse, he tripped again. This time, the axe fell onto his mother’s head, and it split her skull open as well. The little boy was horrified, but he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. So he took the two bodies downstairs, into the backyard, and lit them on fire.”<br><br>Wanda was laughing audibly now, but I still didn’t see what was so funny.<br><br>“Did you know,” Simon said, “that burning a human body is often illegal? In many places, it’s considered desecration of a body, and is punishable by several years in prison. In this case, however, the little boy burned his parents in a field on the outskirts of his town, where it was legal to have a small campfire in order to burn your rubbish. Which is what he told the police, when they came to his house, looking for his parents.”<br><br>I was getting bored with this joke. It just kept going on and on, and there didn’t seem to be any punchline in sight.<br><br>“The police found the little boy in his house, eating dinner. They asked him where his parents were, and he said, ‘Oh, they’re camping. That’s what they said, anyway.’<br><br>“‘Camping?’ one of the officers repeated. ‘But it’s the middle of autumn. It’s cold and rainy, and there’s nothing but mud in the campsite. Why would they go camping in this weather, when they have a warm house here, with plenty of good food to eat?’”<br><br>Simon looked at Wanda, who was laughing openly now. I sighed, not finding this as funny as she did.<br><br>“‘I don’t know,’ the little boy said. ‘They just said they were going camping, and they went. They took their tent with them, and I haven’t seen them since.’<br><br>“The police thought this was suspicious, but there was nothing they could do. They left, and the little boy was grateful to be rid of them. He finished his dinner, which was a hearty stew his father used to make, and then he went to bed.<br><br>“The next morning, the police returned. ‘Where are your parents?’ one of them asked.<br><br>“‘They’re camping,’ the little boy said.<br><br>“‘But when will they return?’ the other officer asked.<br><br>“‘I don’t know,’ the little boy said. ‘They took their tent with them.’<br><br>“The officers looked at each other, confused, but they left without saying anything else. The little boy was confused, but he finished his breakfast and left for school, because he thought it would be best to act normal in case anyone asked questions.”<br><br>Simon paused, looking back at the book. Wanda and I both waited for him to go on, but he just stared off into space, a faraway look in his eyes.<br><br>Then he stood up, and walked into the kitchen. Wanda and I exchanged a confused glance, but we didn’t say anything. We didn’t know what to say.<br><br>Simon returned a moment later, holding a large pot. It was full of stew, and smelled delicious. He sat back down in his chair, and began to read from the book again.<br><br>“The little boy finished his breakfast, and put the pot in the sink to wash it later. He left for school, where he was questioned by several of his teachers, but none of them knew what had happened to his parents. They all asked him where they were, and when they would return, but all he could say was that they were