A Comedian’s Guide to Being Funny: Broken Ankles, Capes, and Somersaults

[A series of siren sounds is heard throughout the following account.] 

After countless days of training, I have finally been able to somersault my way into the depths of The Jugular, a secret compound for comedic heroes and a holy destination for anyone searching for forbidden books, transcripts, or scrolls about humor. Entry was gained despite the presence of a distracted guard with advanced technology who almost caught me mid-plot. Luckily, my superb, lust-inducing, incredibly impressive cape of bedazzling concealing powers saved me.

Unluckily, it could not save me from The Plant. (I guess you could argue that The Plant wanted me to feed it.) After narrowly escaping that dangerous encounter, I saw the object of my desire: A Comedian’s Guide to Being Funny. The book, the holy grail of humor, the real reason why I twisted my ankle doing acrobatics and my motivation behind wasting 12,563,625 bahts on a cape that doesn’t even show up in the video.

I let my selfishness get the best of me. The devil inside reached out, compelling my hand to grab the book. It felt so right, the devil and I, reaching for the tome. But then I heard a noise behind me. I panicked. [Insert loud paper ripping sound.] I couldn’t get a good grip on the book, so I made a desperate grab at one of the pages. It separated from the book with deafening volume; a single page from the most prized fountain of comedic knowledge in the world.

A strange combination of triumph and regret followed me home as I fled the scene. Later that night, while standing in a cold shower, it all made sense. The book had been duct taped to its pedestal. How dare they put a sticky restriction on that luscious, smooth cover? A comedic relic deserves better. They had better watch out for my strongly worded letter and my next appearance, because I will be back; even if I have to steal that book one page at a time.