How Do You Make a Mesonite Laugh?

Among all the species of the known galaxy there is one constant, one universal concept that binds all sentient beings to a collective consciousness. It has been used since the days of first contact with Earth, and certainly before that auspicious time, to facilitate communication between disparate cultures. Its power to persuade antagonistic parties to settle their differences peaceably is well known. When no other means of communication will work, due to the vast difference in how alien civilizations view life, this philosophy never fails. Make them laugh. Humor or rather, to be more technical, comedy will always win the day.

The life of a stand-up diplomat can be pretty hectic. Traveling from one star system to the next wears on you. True, being a diplomat for the League of Planets can have its perks. I travel only in the most luxurious starships. Most of the time in state cabins with my own servant, except when a "Magnificent Almighty Grand Overlord" or a "Supreme All Knowing Head Honcho" is on board and I have to defer to his status and forgo the state cabin and servant.

My credentials can always get me into the finest restaurants on the finest planets and without reservations. And the women, there was once a fairly funny diplomat from Earth who said, “Power is the greatest aphrodisiac” or something like that. I’m here to tell you he was right.

There are many beautiful women in the galaxy and most of them show up at diplomatic functions. They seem to be drawn to them like Oriean dune flies are to Razzil guano. It’s not the prettiest of analogies, but you get my point. Just last month, I hooked up with a gorgeous Tolusian female at the closing celebration of the Betelgeuse III and IV peace conference and comedy hour. When I said hooked up I meant it. I didn’t realize that Tolusian lovemaking was a marathon event. It seems the sex organs of Tolusian women are built sort of like Chinese finger puzzles. Once you enter you can’t get out. The more you pull back, the tighter she gets. We stayed coupled for eighteen hours, until she finally relented after about twenty or thirty orgasms. To add insult to injury, I had to keep my member on ice for days; she called me “speedy” when we parted.

I’m known in diplomatic circles throughout the galaxy as the "go to guy". When the negotiations get too serious, I'm the man that can make them laugh. In all humility, I have to say my reputation is well deserved. I’ve honed my craft over years of participating in tricky negotiations. The Rydel Non-Aggression Pact was my moment of stardom. I already had the reputation for turning a tough crowd and was signed to that gig at the last moment.

The Rydelians were running raids on a number of their neighbors, your standard invasion and pillage. Stand-up Dips from all over tried their best to loosen up the combatants for serious negotiations, but all efforts failed. I was the last act. I opened with my usual impressions. How did I know the Sommacian Queen was the 202nd daughter of the "Great and Powerful Omnipotent Emperor of the Ishbec Race"? It was my best impression. I had him down to a tee.

Well, all hell broke loose. It was a diplomat’s nightmare. The Queen began to ooze slime and I don’t have to tell you, that’s not a good sign. The Rydelian Supreme Counsel unfolded his wings with all his minions following suit. The negotiations were about to completely break down. Then I thought fast, slapstick. They were a fairly violent group of people so I did a couple of my best pratfalls. Well I tell you, it brought the house down. I followed the slapstick with some jokes about the Arminites, who were despised by all in attendance. “How can you find the bride at an Arminite wedding? Her arguncular hair is braided.” They roared for three minutes at that one. At the end of my act I received a standing ovation, at least by the species that had legs. After that, the negotiations were a success and my reputation was golden.

The mission I'm traveling to now is going to be a tough one. It will take all the comedic prowess I have to succeed. A week ago my boss, the Chief Diplomatic Agent, summoned me to League H.Q. I entered his office with some trepidation. I had heard rumors of difficult negotiations somewhere in the Cassiopeia sector, but knew nothing beyond the fact that a few of the best stand-up dips in the area had died horrible deaths on stage.

“Oh, there you are Buck,” the Chief said to me, looking up from the computer screen on his large faux oak desk, “I’ve got a gig here that only the great Buck Rogers can bring home.”

I took the stage name of “Buck Rogers” from an early 20th century space hero. I thought it sounded strong but with a slight bit of sarcasm.

I sometimes regret the choice, especially when I have to deal with the Inferians or the other cultures surrounding the Crab Nebula. The pronunciation of “Rogers” is very close to the Inferian word for their equivalent of penis and “Buck” is the Asul word for tiny or miniscule. Well, you can understand my reluctance to work around the Crab Nebula. I seldom get any action there, despite my credentials.

“You don’t have to butter me up, Chief,” I said, “You can’t kid a kidder you know.”

“Ok, Ok, have a seat.” The Chief tapped a few buttons on his computer keyboard and projected the content of his screen onto the projection field between us. “This is the closest we can come to the likeness of a newly discovered species.”

The projection showed animated sketches of rather large, stern looking furry creatures, bipedal, with vertical axial symmetry. They had large grotesque heads with floppy, puppy-dog ears and sunken black eyes. “They’ve made contact with various cultures in the farthest edge of the Cassiopeia sector. They call themselves the 'Braths'. They are an aggressive race and are claiming all planets they visit as property of their Empire. Diplomats in the area have attempted talks, but to no avail. Our very best comics in the sector have failed to even raise a chuckle. As far as we can tell Buck, they appear to be humorless.”

“Humorless? We have yet to discover a species without a funny bone, Chief,” I said with confidence, “No one's been able to find what makes them laugh is all. You remember how difficult it was to find the type of humor that appealed to the Mesonites. Who’d have thought that such a dainty species would find fart humor so funny.”

“Ya,” the Chief agreed, “Showing some old ‘South Park’ videos was a stroke of genius Buck. Those Terrence and Philip characters really made them to bust a gut. I hope you can pull another one out of your butt like you did then.”

“Ha, pretty good boss. You still got it don’t you?”

“Now who’s buttering who? I’m sending you over to Neo where the talks are underway. You need to get these Braths in line. You’ll be taking the ‘George Carlin' in a half hour.”

“Right Chief, I’m on the job.”

“Hey Buck.”

“Yes Chief?”

“Break a leg.”

The starship decelerated from super light speed as we approached the outskirts of the Cassiopeia sector. The entire trip took five days, enough time to do some research and refine my act to what I thought the Brath culture would find humorous. I discovered mainly what would not work from the reports of the stand-up dips that preceded me.

Quince the Joker, a senior comic from the nearby Formesian Cooperative, failed miserably with Henney Youngmanesk one liners. When he used the famous line “Take my wife, please”, a group of young Braths took him at his word and kidnapped his wife. They had their way with her for five days before they realized their mistake and gave her back without even an apology.

The intercom by my bed buzzed as I was putting the finishing touches on my opening act.

“Mr. Rogers sir?” the voice from the intercom speaker beckoned. It was the ship’s second in command, Lieutenant Cindy Costello. She had a sweet, soft voice that was a stark contradiction to her six foot seven inch physique.

“Yes, this is Rogers”

“We are approaching the Neoian spaceport. We will be docking in twenty minutes sir. The Neoian ambassador Kerzal will be there to greet you personally and has arraigned for a shuttle to the planet’s surface. We have sent a porter to collect your things. Is there anything else we can do for you sir?”

“No thanks lieutenant. That will be all,” I abruptly replied.

“I hope you had a pleasant trip sir. I look forward to you riding me, ummm, with us again.”

There was a Freudian slip if I ever heard one. We had barely left Earth when Cindy came on to me like a newly defrocked nun. We had two encounters. The first was awkward as hell. She was much too tall for me. I got lost in those long arms and legs of hers, but she was a fairly good looker and all her organs were in the right spots, unlike many of the alien chicks I’ve been with. And she was very perceptive. She must have sensed my discomfort and disarmed the artificial gravity in my stateroom the second time.

Making love in a zero gravity environment makes one feel like a gymnast on steroids. We floated, spun and twirled and got into positions that would be physically impossible in normal gravity. At zero g, her elongated appendages became an asset instead of a hindrance. She grabbed onto a ceiling support, wrapped her legs around my waist and rode me while I was whipped around like a rag doll in the arms of a chimpanzee.

I was waiting just inside the exit portal when the ship docked. I heard the whoosh of the airlock pressurizing and walked through the open portal into the busy docking complex of the Neoian spaceport.

“Diplomat Rogers.”

I looked down in response to my name being called in the unmistakable raspy, phlegm garbled voice of the Neoian Ambassador.

"Hello, Ambassador."

“Greeting Buck. Did you have a pleasant flight?” Kerzal asked.

“Yes I did, thank you Ambassador.” Thoughts of the naked lieutenant hanging from the ceiling came to mind.

“Please come with us now. We must hurry to the Hosbliss Hotel in Wayog City where the negotiations are underway,” the Ambassador said as we hurried to the shuttle bay. Well, at least the Ambassador and his assistants were hurrying. The Neoians were a small race just barely three feet tall. In fact, they looked rather elfish with their pointed ears and small pointed noses. I took one step for every three of theirs so I was walking with a fairly relaxed stride.

“The negotiations are going poorly,” Kernel continued as we approached the shuttle bay. “They have threatened to break up numerous of times. If it wasn’t for my outstanding diplomatic skills, all would have been lost.” The Neoians are not known for their humility. “I fear you are our only hope for a breakthrough Buck. I trust your material is fresh. No one has been able to induce even a smile on any of the Braths.”

“I’ll do my best Ambassador. I’ve handled tough crowds before. I’ll find something that works.” On the outside I exuded confidence but on the inside I was shaking in my boots.

I sat in the back of the shuttle, in seats reserved for larger species. Within five minutes, we were landing on the pad inside the parking garage of the Hosbliss Hotel. We disembarked and briskly walked to the conference hall. I had to stop occasionally to let the Neoians catch up. In all the excitement, I had difficulty regulating my pace to match the tiny legs of the Neoian Ambassador and his assistants.

Two Neoian guards opened the conference room doors as we approached. I was nearly knocked back by the smell when our party entered the large, ornately appointed room. The Ambassador tugged at my shirtsleeve and waved to me to bend down. He whispered softly into my ear. “I forgot to warn you Buck. The Braths exude a horrific odor. We have been very careful not to act offended and certainly not mention it in anyway. We don’t know if they’re sensitive about it, but I think it’s best not to test them at this time.”

I agreed with a nod.

The Ambassador led me to the conference table and introduced me to the Brath commander, His Excellency General Trozmothikreemioth. The General stood to greet me. He towered over my five foot ten inch physique. The Brath were well over seven feet tall and nearly as wide. The General looked liked a giant two-legged Saint Bernard in leather armor. A huge hairy triple chin that could have been mistaken for a keg of brandy enhanced the resemblance.

I gave the General the traditional Brath greeting I had learned about during my research. I punched his left upper arm with a side sweep from my right and then braced myself for the return greeting.

“It’s truly a pleasure to meet you Your Excellency,” I said, as I staggered to my feet after having been propelled sideways across the conference table.

“What are you?” the General asked in a demanding voice.

“I am a Stand-up Diplomat from the League of Planets, sir,” I answered, not really sure what he wanted to know.

“No, What are YOU?” he asked again, this time emphasizing his point with a fat gloved finger to my chest.

“Oh, I am a human from the plant Earth.”

“Earth?” the General said, stroking one of his big ears, “Maybe we go to Earth next. Humans look easy to conquer.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a joke because none of the Braths seemed to laugh or even snicker. Maybe they were a humorless species.

Ambassador Kernel gave me a subtle signal to begin my work. I excused myself, hopped onto the stage and stood behind the curtain to wait for my entrance. Over the speaker system, a synthetic voice began my introduction.

“Now! Direct from the headquarters of the League of Planets, the League’s leading funnyman. He brought the house down at the Betelgeuse peace talks and he’ll bring it down for you today. Heeeerrrrees, Buck!”

As my entrance music was played, I bounded onto the stage. I opened with my standard line. “Good evening everyone. My name is Buck Rogers. Just don’t tell anyone around the Crab Nebula.”

The Neoians cracked up, but the Braths just sat and stared with their arms folded across their yard wide chests.

“I just flew in from League HQ, and boy are my arms tired.” an oldie but usually effective. The Neoians loved it, but the Braths still stared.

OK, one-liners didn't work. I knew that. I tried a racy joke.

“A Nyfronian male walks into a bar with a Zoluzia midget on his shoulder. He orders a Vendrin Ale and the bartender sets it in front of him. The Zoluzia midget jumps off the man’s shoulder, kicks over the glass of ale and jumps back onto the man’s shoulder. The bartender pours him another and the midget does it again.

“The bartender asks, ‘What’s with the midget?’”

“‘I saved a Venusian Witch Princess from certain death and she gave me one wish as a reward,’ the man replied.

“‘Ya? What did you wish for?’

“‘A twelve inch prick.’”

The Braths remained emotionless.

I tried a few more jokes but still no response from the Baths. I was beginning to get irritated with this sullen faced race. This was some of my best stuff. Maybe a riddle would work.

“How many Xenaphipes does it take to screw in a light bulb? Anyone? No? Xenaphipes don’t need light bulbs. They’re all blind!”

Still nothing, the Neoians were enjoying themselves immensely, laughing, slapping their chubby legs and rolling on the floor. I could feel my anger rising. I decided to try some visual humor. I grabbed my props and started dancing around like a fool. I performed a few pratfalls, a few silly walks, faked shoving things up my nose and in my butt with some slight of hand. I even resorted to some bathroom humor, but nothing could crack through the Brath’s stone-faced expressions.

After about forty-five minutes of my best material, I became quite upset. Nothing I did got through to them. In all my years of stand-up diplomacy I’ve never met a species as stubbornly unfunny as the Braths. I’m not sure why I lost control. My training should have prevented any tendency to do it. I guess I couldn’t take the loss of face and I began to spout off.

“You Braths! This is funny stuff. You guys couldn’t find a joke if it jumped up and bit you on the ass. And man, do you guys stink! Have you ever heard of, what we civilized people call, soap?”

The room became so silent you could hear a pin drop from a light year away. "Oh crap, what have I done", I whispered to myself. I started to slowly back away towards the stage exit as the Brath General stood up and reached for a large ornate dagger he kept sheathed in his belt. He raised the dagger and pointed it in my direction. I thought to myself that if I don’t get out of here fast, I’m a dead man.

I turned to run towards the backstage but something I heard made me hesitate. It was a familiar sound, rhythmic, spontaneous and welcome to those in my line of work. I slowly turned around and I saw all the Braths standing up on their enormous feet. Each one was pointing their daggers in my direction, laughing their copious guts out.

The General walked closer to the stage then turned to address his men. “This human is funny person.” He turned back to my direction. “Human Rogers, give us more.”

I began to settle down. So, they liked insults, but not directed at others, I tried that earlier. They wanted to be the butt of the jokes. It certainly took a confident culture to enjoy only self-depreciating humor, so I dug deep into my joke memory and accessed some outstanding insults.

“Hey you, the last time I saw a face like yours, I fed it Alpo.” The Braths roared.

“General, you're so fat that whenever you go to the beach the tide comes in.” The Braths were slapping themselves on each other’s back at the one.

“Hey, how’s your face feeling”

“Fine”

“Well, it’s killing me”

"If ignorance is bliss then the Braths must be the happiest people in the galaxy."

"What do you call a Brath playground? A kennel."

"I went to a Brath singles bar last night, the Wayog City Dog Pound."

Well, the negotiations went well after my act. The Braths agreed to relinquish all claims to League planets in exchange for some trading rights. Agreements were signed and celebrations were held. During the party, the Braths joked about themselves, their children, mothers and wives and I had them laughing at a few new insults I thought up on the spot. Word quickly got out about my success and my star went platinum.

After the Braths left Neo, I caught the first League ship available back home. I looked forward to five days of seclusion and relaxation.

A few hours after I had settled into my state cabin on the “Eddie Murphy” the door buzzer sounded.

“Enter.”

The door slid soundlessly open.

“Hi Buck. I got myself transferred for your return trip. May I come in?”

“Sure Cindy, This is a surprise.”

“Oh, there’ll be more surprises to come Buck.”

Cindy pulled a remote control device out of her pocket and pressed a button. With a subtle squat, she leaped into the air and performed a perfect slow motion summersault as she nimbly stripped off her uniform.

I sat erect in my chair as the now naked Lieutenant beckoned me to join her while she steadied herself against a ceiling crossbeam. This job certainly has its perks.