The clown finished his cigarette.
‘What is humor? Hell of a question, frog.”
He took the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out into his forearm. The frog sat on the stone, unimpressed.
‘It stems from several sources, but as a human response, it’s a gift.’
The clown took out a vial of pills from his pocket.
‘All cultures laugh. The face loosens and stretches into a smile. Keeps us young.’
The clown had to take the pills to counteract the nausea from his chemotherapy treatments.
‘The taboo is one source - swears, sexuality, scatology. Poop is hilarious to children of all ages.’
The clown jiggled two pills into his hand. The frog ran his tongue over his right eye.
‘Slapstick is another, our ridiculous bodies, fragile and lame. Absurdity.’
The chemotherapy was for the clown’s testicular cancer.
‘Satire, the thrill from your mind being led through a window. Irony, analogy, misdirection. Paradox.’
The clown swallowed his pills. The frog farted and jumped off the stone and into the water.
‘Hell of a question, frog,’ the clown said, looking at the ripples. After they stopped, he pulled out his cigarettes and shook another one loose.
