Episode 1

Like any aspiring comic, Gulliver Keyes was eager to try out material anywhere people would listen—even to an audience behind a two-way mirror while spread-eagled and strapped to a physical restraint.

Like any aspiring comic, Gulliver Keyes was eager to try out material anywhere people would listen—even to an audience behind a two-way mirror while spread-eagled and strapped to a physical restraint board.

That’s where Gulliver Keyes found himself—as a patient in the Somber Living comedian conversion clinic.

A dozen electrodes connected Gulliver’s arms, legs, and stomach to a 12-volt battery. It administered violent shocks in sync with the punch lines and pratfalls in a non-stop stream of sitcom, standup, and sketch comedy playing on an 8-foot-high screen.

Gulliver’s body convulsed as he watched video clips from Saturday Night Live and HBO. What did people see in Joe Piscopo? If they really wanted to destroy Gulliver’s sense of humor they should at least play funny stuff during the shock therapy. The Motherlover sketch with Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg. Fawlty Towers. Even the Californians is good for a chuckle.

Gulliver’s back arched and his muscles spasmed as pain shot up his arm and through his body. He tried to tear the electrodes from his arm, but cuffs on each corner of the hard plastic restraint board rendered him helpless. The wrist restraints kept him locked down. He couldn’t even scratch.

It seemed like he’d been drifting in and out for hours when a technician in a white lab coat removed Gulliver’s rubber mouth plug. At last, a chance to teach his tormentors that it takes more than a few electric shocks to stop this show.

“Hello, Somber Living. This is my first time playing a clinic. It caught me off guard to be surrounded by actual guards. I’d prefer to do standup in keeping with tradition—standing up. But enough about me. What’s the deal with comedian conversion anyway? I thought this would be like gay conversion, except instead of praying the gay away, I’d be praying the jokes away. Judging from these electrode attachments, I assume you’re not convinced that prayer alone will dispel humorous thoughts.”

Gulliver gulped for air. “Which makes sense when you consider that even when a priest, a rabbi, and a reverend walk into a bar, the outcome is usually a joke.”

A few muffled laughs from the treatment room loudspeaker, followed by conversation. Did they know Gulliver could hear this? Or did the technician secretly leave the mic open to help Gulliver out? Morrissey seemed like a decent sort. He didn’t get rough when he attached the wrist restraints, or rip off the tape to remove the electrodes.

“I like to show these cocky kids who’s boss right off the bat.” That was that asshole quack, Doctor Baffle—the sadistic clinic director. “Crank the voltage up to six and give them a motivator.”

“Motivator?” said a voice that sounded familiar. Gulliver’s Dad?

“Conversion clinic humor,” said Baffle. “A euphemism for wiping the smirk off your son’s face.”

Yeah, it was Dad. That was a motivator too—for Gulliver to continue his set. Show Dad he was serious about a creative career. Don’t expect him to be working the phone in his shady hedge fund after graduation.

“Would you like to give it a try?” said Baffle. “No doubt your kid’s done a few things that still stick in your craw. Here’s your chance for some payback.”

“Stun guns are for cops, not trigger happy doctors,” said Gulliver’s Dad. “The ENGAGE button on this remote is so worn from use I can barely read the letters.”

Good old Dad. Baffle baits him to be an accomplice, but he sticks up for his kid—sort of, anyway.

“This beauty is much more persuasive than what the police use,” said Baffle. “See those electrodes on Gulliver’s arm? They are spaced three to four inches apart to create the maximum amount of pain as it delivers multiple shocks in two-second bursts. Give Gulliver another jolt, Morrissey. Just for the hell of it.”

“I already removed the mouth plug,” said Morrissey. “Gulliver could bite his tongue if we zap him now.”

God, it took two of them to keep Baffle in check. Better wrap up the set while he can.

“Why do they call this device a Graduated Electronic Decelerator?” said Gulliver. “There’s nothing graduated about the shocks—they come at you quickly, and the pain keeps accelerating.”

“How painful is it?” The men responded in unison to the joke setup line, like an actual comedy club audience.

“The user manual describes it as a hard pinch,” said Gulliver. “But I suspect the copywriter skipped the sampling the therapy step. Otherwise he’d know that a throbbing, deep muscle pain surges down your arms to your fingertips and down your legs to the soles of your feet. And that you’re pumped with enough video and audio sensory overload to feel like you’ve been violated by the energizer bunny.”

Gulliver licked his lips, cleared his throat, then continued.

“I’m sure you’re aware that many states ban conversion therapy. They claim it causes a loss of sexual feeling, depression, suicide attempts, and anxiety. All true, but I think the real story here is that Somber Living is the perfect venue to try out new comedy material. I don’t need to guess whether my joke lands. An electric shock instantly confirms it.”

A pause, then the topper.

“You give a whole new meaning to the term punch line.”

“We take the mouth plug out to give them a rest between sessions,” said Baffle. “If I knew he’d deliver a standup routine I’d have left it in. Your kid’s got spirit, I’ll give him that.”

“Gulliver’s always been a rebel,” said Keyes. “He’d tell us he was going to a strip joint, then sneak off to a comedy club open mic night to try out jokes.”

So they knew about that. Gulliver was learning more about his Dad in a few minutes strapped to a restraint board than in all his years at home. He strained to hear more.

“We knew we had a problem when his mom found links to comedy writing classes on his computer,” said Keyes. “How many sessions does it take?”

“It depends on who’s teaching the classes,” said Baffle. “The ones by the Onion founder are good.”

“I mean how many electroshock sessions,” said Keyes.

“Oh, right,” said Baffle. “I prefer to call it aversive conditioning. The sessions here at Somber Living are gentler than the ones I use at Camp Gaydios. We don’t deliver the shock directly to the genitals. They get Gulliver to hate himself for being funny, which usually drives out creative impulses in a few weeks. Then we shift to group counseling sessions.”

Baffle pointed to a gallery of framed student photos mounted on the wall beneath a banner that read ‘Somber Living Wall of Heroes.’ “In a few short months, Gulliver will take his place with these hard-charging fellow graduates. He’ll learn take-no-prisoners negotiation, create tax shelters that skate right up to the legal line, and sell variable annuities to widows with callous indifference to the dreams he shatters and lives he destroys.”

“A mini-me,” said Keyes. “Will the conversion last?”

“I wish you had brought him in at the first sign of being artistic, instead of waiting until he wrote the high school senior class musical,” said Baffle. “Gulliver could relapse into an affable temperament without warning. If you find a partial draft of a novel, evidence of charitable giving, or Gulliver rescues a puppy, contact us and we will intervene.”

“Can’t you just turn up the juice on that contraption in there?” said Keyes.

Uh, oh. Dad showing his true colors now?

“If wishes were horses,” said Baffle. “It will be easier if you just lower your expectations. Gulliver is likely to straddle the business and creative worlds without settling comfortably into either.”

“I could live with accounting, real estate, venture capital. Even a law firm that handles mergers, acquisitions, and divestitures. Gotta draw the line at ambulance chasers or asylum advocates.”

Baffle pointed to the Wall of Heroes. “There are no masters of the universe among the Somber Living alums, but comedian conversion therapy arrested their descent into a bohemian lifestyle. We’ll channel Gulliver into a career where creativity is an asset in climbing the greasy pole.”

“There are jobs like that?”

“Surprisingly, there are many. The advertising game comes to mind.”

“Just steer him away from the internet hustle. I couldn’t bear the shame of telling friends that my son is a content curator or lifestyle coach.”

“That’s enough progress for today,” said Baffle to Morrissey. “Remove the restraints and clean Gulliver up.”

Baffle turned to Keyes. “You’d better slip out the back. If Gulliver sees you and suspects we’re conspiring against him, it could trigger a psychotic break.”

Gulliver managed to roll his eyes. Baffle still didn’t realize he had a hot mic. What a dumbfuck.

“We would never do that,” said Gulliver’s Dad.

“Of course not,” said Baffle.

Keyes picked up his briefcase and scurried out the door.

As Morrissey finished unfastening Gulliver’s shackles, Baffle entered the treatment room. He handed Gulliver a glass of lemonade.

Gulliver gulped it down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Thank you, Doc. You’ve confirmed my suspicion.”

“And what is that Gulliver?”

“In comedy conversion, audience gags you.”