With and Without Class by David Fleming Page B

me?”
    â€œWhat? Well… of course. It’s not hypnosis. It’s laughter. Pure laughter.” Jackson clenched his bottle, tipping it in an exaggerated swig. “When I first started selling these things it scared people, but it’s simple. People think humor is mysterious. It’s like starting a car. Cause and effect. Once scientists figured out the brain, they learned they could set up the things we see and hear to manipulate us, subconsciously. That’s not how I say it to clients. I say ‘stimulate’ instead of ‘manipulate’—sounds better.”
    â€œThey discovered fundamentals of humor,” Jackson continued. “The main two is logic and emotion. But it’s the interplay between the two that makes things funny. The expressions of the holographic faces create a small emotional response—”
    â€œI don’t care,” Larry threw back the rest of his Scotch, “Leave me alone.”
    Jackson’s eyes flashed.
    The bartender stepped closer to Jackson. “But why does it matter about the faces?”
    â€œUm…” Jackson seemed to glance over Larry before addressing the bartender. “The high noises provide a logic that the brain understands at some level deep down. The logic of the noise contrasts the emotional response of the faces. And that’s the other part of it—the surprise. The contrast makes it funny.” The man took a drink and turned on his stool to the crowd. “Bet you can’t guess the last part.”
    â€œWhat’s it matter? It works—don’t it?” the bartender asked.
    His eyes grew, “It’s people. Humanity. We save a ton compared to our competitors with that cheap body. And it’s just as funny as theirs. They don’t get it. It’s the symbol of the human form that matters. But why not a rock or a rabbit? Those things are only funny when they remind us of ourselves. Anthropomorphism is the essence of humor—”
    Larry smacked his glass on the bar. “You think you can put humor in some test tube. You don’t know one thing about life.”
    Jackson hunched and furrowed his brow. “Oh…” he turned away from them.
    â€œHey Larry,” the bartender called.
    Larry looked up at him.
    â€œMy shifts up. You’re done with your drink. Go home Larry. You don’t look good.”
    Larry turned his back to him.
    The bartender folded tips into his pocket and pulled his key from the register, “Not my problem,” he mumbled.
    Jackson stood, “Booze is gone. Guess I’m gone too.”
    The bartender turned off the lights within the bar and Larry watched them leave while the club patrons laughed and sweat rolled down Vic’s cheeks.
    He walked the narrow aisle, nudging patrons in their swivel chairs as he passed, bobbing their entranced heads as he lifted the bar from his jacket, clenching it in both hands.
    He got between their table and the stage, bouncing the crowbar in his free hand. “Hi Vic.”
    They stared over his shoulder at the rubber man.
    â€œI’m here.” Larry jarred the table, tipping their heads, “Can you see me Vic! I came to give my girl back her ring. To see if she’ll have me again. But it looks like to get your attention, I’m gonna have to show the two of you something. For entertainment!”
    Their laughter continued with their hands squeezing beneath the table.
    He turned to leer over his shoulder at the rubber man. “How’s it get them so zonked? Is it still laughter with them turned all zombie-like?”
    Vic’s eyes darted as if reading something.
    Larry turned back to the stage. Burned into the rubber man’s chest in red letters was the name ‘Larry’. He lowered the bar, “What?” He regarded the rubber man and its changing faces. “It’s me? My face…” His