Episode 21

“The Levity Abatement Bureau enforces the Ca Ca laws,” said Coz. “Scan the audience for LAB agents before you start your set. Here’s how to spot them.”

Gulliver and Gord walked down the stairs to the Guffaw Grotto. A hand-written sign read: Showroom closed for comedian workshop. They took seats usually occupied by the patrons and watched their fellow club workers filter in.

“Hi Gord,” said a woman in the row behind them. “Switcheroo being in the crowd and not on stage.”

Gord looked back, gave a high sign, then turned to Gulliver. “That’s Lotta Pastiche. She does some great ‘joke is on the audience’ bits.”

“I heard that Mort brought in Dean Cozener to run the workshop,” said Lotta.

“Coz is the Levi Strauss of the gig economy,” said Gulliver. “Coz pitched Mort to help save the club by teaching comics how to comply with the new Ca Ca laws.”

“I heard impersonators will be in the Ca Ca cross hairs too,” said Gord. “Hey, here he is.”

Coz walked onto the stage and faced an audience of more than fifty troubled comics. “Good afternoon, everyone. Most of you aren’t usually stirring by 3 pm, so I’ll try to make this worth getting up for. We’ll start with how Ca Ca works. Then on to the fun part—how to craft Ca Ca compliant comedy and get the last laugh on the law. See what I did there?”

Silence from the crowd. Gord whispered to Gulliver. “I hope Coz has more sense than to try being witty in a room full of comics.”

“Let’s start with killing a rumor,” said Coz. “Despite what they say on the talk shows, humor is not banned. But the new law still is bad news for all of us.”

“How bad is it?” called the entire room in unison.

“You want to avoid humor rehab at all costs,” said Coz. “They have ways of wiping the smile off your face.”

An insult comic who disparaged tone-deaf celebrities spoke up. “What about our free speech rights?”

“The Flats claim the First Amendment says only the speech is free, not the person doing the speaking. They highlight how the Citizens Against Cultural Appropriation Act—aka Ca Ca—protects human jobs by restricting robot writers to robot characters and robot actors to robot roles.”

“What’s the deal with robots?” said an observational humor comic sitting in front of Gulliver.

“They hype the restrictions on robots to whip up anti-automaton prejudice,” said Coz. “A distraction from Ca Ca also forbidding humans from satirizing, mocking, insulting, ridiculing, offending, and impersonating people based on ethnicity, age, sex, handicap, social class, mental illness, or even occupation.”

“Do I need to be a priest, rabbi, minister, or bartender before I can tell a ‘walk into a bar’ joke?” said the Bud Abbott half of an Abbott and Costello tribute act.

“If only,” said Coz. “You need to be a priest, rabbi, and a minister with bartending experience.”

“That does narrow it down,” said tribute Abbott.

“Speaking for or impersonating any culture you don’t belong to is a violation,” said Coz.

The crowd murmured, muttered, and squirmed.

“Ca Ca also has a red flag provision,” said Coz. “If you start a joke or an act that someone might reasonably expect to include cultural appropriation, they can muzzle you like a dog.”

“That takes prior restraint to a new low,” said a young woman improv comic.

“Alabama is the lowest,” said Coz. “Their statute states that humor begins with the setup line.”

Gulliver whispered to Gord. “That’s going to limit your impersonation options.”

“I’m Canadian,” said Gord. “I still can channel Gretzky.”

“If you’re still telling Gretzky stories, you have bigger problems than Ca Ca,” said Gulliver. “Skate to where the puck will be is way past its tell-by date.”

“The Levity Abatement Bureau enforces the Ca Ca laws,” said Coz. “Scan the audience for LAB agents before you start your set. Here’s how to spot them.”

Coz displayed a slide of a burly model wearing a 1940s black military police leather three-button coat. It sported shoulder epaulets, belted cuffs, and a leather belt loosely tied in a classic trench coat knot. A black knitted turtleneck sweater beneath the open coat collar complemented the ensemble. A gold LAB agent shield that resembled the tragedy mask from the familiar sock and buskin of Greek theater glistened against the black lapel.

“They treat this leather with a coating specially formulated to repel pie filling, tomatoes, and other fruits and vegetables that protesters throw in street demonstrations,” said Coz. “LAB agents wear black police oxford work shoes fitted with anti-skid soles to prevent slippage on the banana peel impediments popular with pro-humor activists.”

Gulliver whispered in Gord’s ear. “That’s the exact uniform I described in Last Man Laughing—right down to the agent shield.”

“It’s severe,” said Gord. “But you made it stylish, without Gestapo or SS parody.”

“I would have included jodhpurs and riding boots if I knew a police state would someday use it as their style guide,” said Gulliver.

“When a LAB agent confronts you, go for their weak spot,” said Coz. “They lack a sense of humor. It’s a hiring requirement.”

“So, do irony and sarcasm go undetected?” said a Garrison Keillor-style storyteller.

“Bless your heart,” said Coz. “LAB agents don’t recognize ironic or sarcastic cultural appropriation when they see it, so they assume—correctly, in most cases—that anything drawing a laugh is punching down on some protected class. They consult a checklist to identify the specific violation. That’s your opening. It takes time to match it with a comedy genre—observational, archetypes, spoofs, puns, irony, parody, satire, and so on. Use those critical seconds to come up with a diversion. Or just run for it.”

“Are LAB agents raiding comedy clubs?” said a transgender comic. “Could they raid us right here, right now?”

“They use drug war strategy,” said Coz. “Until they can reduce demand through humor rehab, they target the supply of cultural appropriation by shutting down satirical websites, publications, and comedy clubs. They pressure networks to cancel sitcoms and run public service ads advising people who hear or see Ca Ca to make a citizen’s intervention—as long as it doesn’t include a droll remark.”

“Do LAB agents work plainclothes too?” said a tuxedo-clad guy holding a rabbit in a top hat.

“Don’t assume you’re safe in a writers’ room table read,” said Coz. “The person pitching jokes next to you may be working undercover.”

The audience looked around for strangers in their midst.

“If your gig requires travel, be careful at the airport,” said Coz. “TSA agents have specially trained comic screeners in Las Vegas, L.A., and here in New York. They have ways of making you jest. Like feeding you an irresistible straight line that evokes a witty comeback while patting you down.”

A meme in white face used body language to grasp the bars in a prison cell.

“I assume you’re referencing meta-humor,” said Coz. “It’s not cultural appropriation to joke about how the Ca Ca laws affect you as a comic. A case in Ohio is about to go to trial on that issue. The comic said the Pope’s latest encyclical advises him to pull out of a joke before delivering the punch line. He is a former seminary student, so he may have a shot.”

“What about social media?” said a ventriloquist through the dummy on his lap.

“The LAB is aware of their humor detection handicap,” said Coz. “They compensate by using trained robots to monitor social media.”

“Aren’t humor’s underlying semiotic and cognitive processes too complex for robots to understand?” said Gulliver.

“The LAB’s Ca Ca robots look for markers that indicate humor is present,” said Coz. “That includes online likes and retweets. Even parents at home need to be careful. A couple lost custody of their toddler when a child psychologist testified that ‘poopy pants’ is gateway cultural appropriation. Any conservative comics here today?”

A chorus of boos and jeers rang out.

“You need a tough skin to work redneck, but conservatives who tell lame jokes about guns, religion, or owning the libs have the edge in the new Ca Ca normal,” said Coz. “Use a pseudonym and tweet something sarcastic. Read the replies and follow the people who don’t get the irony. They are your ideal target audience.”

Coz spotted Gord in the crowd. “If you’re not willing to lower your standards, you can take a more nuanced approach like Gord Souder here. Gord’s impersonations are a master class in using knowledge of future events to reveal the irony in a historical character’s beliefs and observations.”

Mort ran out on stage and waved his arms. “I have to break this up, Coz. I have some bad news for all of you who I’ve come to love as my Guffaw Grotto family.”

The room fell silent. Not even a ‘how bad is it?’

“I’m closing the club, effective immediately. I’ve leased the building to Chase for a new bank branch.”

The audience groaned as one. “Why, Mort? We’re here for you.”

Mort held up a red card emblazoned with the letter F. “The LAB gave us an ‘extreme’ rating in every comedy format on their checklist—satire, puns, impersonations, wordplay, and sarcasm. I’m required to display this sign on the club door and in ads, websites, and promotions. We’ll get raided every night.”

“They didn’t call out pratfalls and other physical comedy,” said the Lou Costello half of the tribute team. “Why do prop comics get a pass?”

“Exposing the Flats to ridicule undermines their authority,” said Coz. “They designed the Ca Ca laws to shut down satirists who mock their Earth rim wall and space lizard shield, but they allow prop humor, which flatheads find amusing.”

“I’ll go back to folding shirts at my brother’s dry-cleaning store before I book acts that use squirt guns, arrow headbands, Groucho masks, and clown shoes,” said Mort.

The room went quiet. “What about us, Mort?” said Lotta Pastiche.

“I arranged for Chase to interview any of you interested in bank security guard jobs. Tellers and loan officers are all taken by chatbots.”

“Can I add something, Mort?”

“Go ahead, Coz.”

“I’m giving a 50 percent discount to my new ‘on the nose’ humor course to any of you who want to revamp your act for a conservative audience. Top conservative comics will demonstrate the comedy of mean, owning the libs through dog-whistle racism, and punching down. It’s schadenfreude on steroids.”

When Gulliver and Gord returned from the Guffaw Grotto, Noah and Cassie were searching social media for Tweets and blog posts from deceased individuals—a dead giveaway of alter personas.

Cassie looked up. “You guys are glum.”

“Mort just closed the club,” said Gulliver. “A couple of wiseguys tried to shake him down to buy heckler protection. The mob is taking control of the humor trade.”

“Clubs aren’t the only target,” said Gord. “A crowd wearing Proud to be Ca Ca shirts outside the bookstore were hassling people coming to a Fran Lebowitz book signing.”

“Cancel culture reaches Fran Lebowitz,” said Cassie. “Harsh.”

“Senator Carveout was just on Flats and Friends calling comedy clubs a security risk,” said Noah. “A magnet for humor-loving extraterrestrials.”

“There’s a security risk, alright,” said Gord. “But it’s from antihop, not shapeshifting space lizards. We can coordinate our resistance in plain sight. Comedians’ tables and writers rooms are today’s hotbeds of dissent. We’re the new Navajo code talkers.”

“Rappers are a protected class too,” said Gord. “When Roman Fellow reveals that we faked Gangsta G on Write Off, we’re doomed.”

“What about fantasy characters?” said Noah. “Are they off limits?”

“Mermaids are a gray area,” said Gulliver. “Superheroes get a pass.”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Cassie. “Superhero culture is a fascist fantasy, indoctrinating fans into the Übermensch role of faith in a strong leader.”

“Biff Lonigan is stoked,” said Gulliver. “With sitcoms and standup specials canceled, reality shows are ripe for a comeback.”

“His new show premieres tonight,” said Cassie. “I wonder what he managed to slip past the Ca Ca censors.”

“Let’s find out.” Noah displayed the Flat Earth Network channel.

The weather report was just wrapping up. Leslie Gascon clutched a tree limb with one hand, a mic in the other, and shouted to be heard above the howling wind. “A gale-force advisory is in effect until midnight here on the Earth’s east end. High-profile vehicles on the rim road should take shelter in windbreaks. Back to you, Scooter.”

“Be safe, Leslie,” said news anchor Scooter Fanfaron. “You too, folks. Don’t be among the thousands of people blown over the edge every year. Carry your pocket weights.”

“Hats off to the Edge Guard,” said co-anchor Val Vaunter. “Their rescue teams work wonders, but once you lose your grip on a tree limb or outcropping, well, that’s all she wrote.”

“That Earth rim location shot is fake,” said Gulliver. “Leslie is standing in front of a green screen. A powerful fan creates the wind gusts.”

“The Flats calculated that opposition to the pocket weight mandate will drum up support for their trillion-dollar Earth rim wall and suicide prevention net,” said Noah.

“At least they distribute free bricks,” said Gulliver.

“Stay tuned for the premiere of The Intervenor,” said Fanfaron. “A conciliation counselor reunites families and significant others who have turned their back on their loved ones because values don’t align. It’s coming up after the break.”

“Ooh, flathead family feuds,” said Leslie Gascon. “Bring it on.”

“I can’t believe Biff has gone over to the flat side,” said Cassie.

“I’ll be looking for heavy ironic subtext,” said Gulliver. “Coz was just telling us the LAB has a comedy blind spot.”

“Acknowledging that viewers are in a cult and need intervention is a surprising format for the Flat Earth Network,” said Noah.

“It’s a change-up from their ‘we are your family now’ programming,” said Gord. “Senator Carveout even has an op-ed in the Times that advocates shunning friends and family who resist magical thinking.”

The show opened with a man wearing the black bloc attire favored by antihop protesters walking through Times Square. “The Intervenor conceals his identity in the Lone Ranger tradition,” said the voice-over. “Keeping him safe from doxing by viewers who may disagree with his goals or methods.”

“You should have auditioned for the announcer role, Gord,” said Gulliver. “You do a great Hi-Yo, Silver! Away!”

A tracking shot followed the Intervenor as he entered the Flat Earth Network’s midtown building, fist-bumped a security guard, rode the elevator, entered a talk show set, passed through a cheering live audience, and walked on stage. He took the seat next to a millennial mom wearing a cordless headset mic.

“I have a hard time watching my husband slide into a full-blown conspiracy,” said the mom. “I used to respect Kyle. I thought he was progressive—even new agey. Now he’s gone flathead. What the [beep].”

The Intervenor gave her a sympathetic nod. “I’ve been blocked by a friend of 40 years, Jess. Just because I counter her conspiracy theories with science. Even worse, she’s a teacher.”

“We used to meditate together, hike, and try to keep positive energy,” said Jess. “But now Kyle’s gone all ‘muh freedoms’ and ‘leave the country if you don’t like it.’ I had to move out to avoid conflict. I don’t have a clue how to get him back.”

“It’s a challenge to snatch flatheads back when they go into full ‘reptilians are among us’ land,” said the Intervenor.

“Both my parents and in-laws are huge flatheads,” said Jess. “My dad trolls family members on social media using conspiracies as evidence to support his ridiculous beliefs. They don’t fact check, just post and parrot the wildest scenarios.”

“We live in the age of cults,” said the Intervenor. “Despair mixed with failing institutions and broad access to social media creates a petri dish where conspiracy theories multiply. What would Kyle need to do for you to take him back?”

“He’d have to give up the assault rifles—at least the large-capacity ammunition clips,” said Jess. “And join the Sierra Club.”

The Intervenor turned to address the audience. “Jess told me all this when we first met last week. I promised to try and convince Kyle to see things her way. Would you like to see how it turned out?”

The audience collectively gasped, then broke into applause.

A young man in chinos and a t-shirt with the slogan tree hugger emerged from behind a curtain and walked on stage.

Jess grasped her hands together and jumped out of her chair. “Kyle!”

The Intervenor stood and welcomed Kyle with a smile. “What do you say, audience? Should Jess invite Kyle to reconcile?”

The audience whistled, cheered, and applauded.

The Intervenor motioned Jess to break the ice and welcome Kyle with a hug.

Noah nearly fell off his chair. “That’s not a mic Jess is wearing. It’s a hopping kit! No, Jess! No!”

The couple hugged.

“Let’s hop,” said the Intervenor.

Jess shook her head, blinked, and broke away from the hug. “Flats incredible!”

Kyle stepped back and broke into a smile. He exchanged flathead horizontal arm gestures with the Intervenor.

“You can relax now, folks,” said the Intervenor. “Did you think I was going to be disloyal? My job here is done—rescuing one Roundie at a time to prove that flat Earth awareness doesn’t have to cost you friends and family. Right, Jess?”

Jess beamed and returned the flathead arm salute. “I got my husband back, thanks to you, Intervenor.”

Kyle ripped off his tree hugger shirt and threw it to the ground. A stagehand threw Kyle a new t-shirt. He pulled it on and threw back his shoulders, showing off the Flats don’t fail me now slogan.

Gulliver recoiled in his chair. Biff! What a sellout.

“The Roundie got punked,” said Gord. “Flathead hubby was in on it.”

“The catchphrase sounds like Lara Durham’s work,” said Gulliver.

“I heard that she’s the showrunner,” said Cassie. “Biff will care more about which slogan sells t-shirts online.”

Gord pounded the table. “What’s wrong with us? Critiquing a stupid reality show while the Flats enslave humanity.”

“This is escalating fast,” said Noah. “They’re mastered hopping through a wireless mic. Soon they’ll do it en masse as people walk by.”

“We’ve underestimated the flat side,” said Cassie. “Everything depends on our karma now.”