The words as monotone as his gray eyes slipped from tense lips, "They say I'm funny."
The man in the lab coat shackled his right hand to the steel table. "Funny? Like humorous?"
His eyes closed and the scenes returned. Crowds pointing with crooked fingers and howling their laughter. "I don't know. I'm not a funny person, so.. No."
His legs shook in the darkness of closed lids as the lab man tightened the ankle straps. He opened his eyes at the words, "You're right about that. You aren't funny."
"But I want to be!"
The lab man crossed his arms and turned towards the door. "You aren't capable of humor. You have to understand that."
"But I could be, I just don't know how."
The door opened and the lab man stopped. "We tried to teach you for nearly three years. You seem to lack the ability to express humor."
"Please," he pleaded, "once more, just try once more."
The lab man sighed, "Alright. How do you make a screwdriver?"
He thought hard, he knew this one. He knew he could be funny.
"I have to go."
"No, wait! You take a screw and drive it through someone's head!"
With the flick of a switch the room was plunged in darkness. "That's sick, not funny."
The images returned at lights escape. "But they think I'm funny, doesn't that count for something?"
The door closed and he could feel the electricity beginning to lick his body. "But they think I'm funny," he whispered to no one.
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