He tried a sense of humor from a mail-order website. It didn’t work quite right. He laughed at inappropriate things, like green onions. Or narwhals. He put it back in its box.
A man sold him one at a yard sale. Initially, he enjoyed laughing at farts and titties and crotch-kicks, but when he found himself earnestly watching pro wrestling, he held his own yard sale.
At last, he found one at a specialty store. It was refined; urbane; nuanced without snobbery. Perfect.
She sighed when she saw him on her doorstep. “Look, what I really meant was: Not you.”
Sci-Fi For Diabetics
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