Welcome to SPOL: The Society for the Preservation of Laughter, where comedy has gone underground. In this dystopian near-future, no one laughs anymore, partly due to social media-induced hypersensitivity and partly because humor has been so sanitized that it now resembles an ingredient label. Memes are monitored, jokes require “feels-safe” approval, and nobody can even say “Dad joke” without a government-issued permit.
Why SPOL Exists
SPOL’s origins trace back to 2025, when laughter became classified as an illicit social stimulant. A shadow government initiative known as Project No-Fun began regulating all humor under the guise of “protecting feelings” and “reducing the risk of misinterpretation.” Online platforms fell in line, and soon, jokes became relics of a time when people could laugh at themselves—or at anything, really.
In this somber landscape, SPOL operates in the shadows, where whispers of “giggles” and “belly laughs” are passed along in darkened alleyways. Comedy clubs are gone, replaced by speakeasies called “Chuckle Chambers” and “Snicker Shacks.” The entrance requires a password (“banana peel”) and at least two references from past comedians willing to vouch for your capacity to handle a joke.
The Code of SPOL
In SPOL’s world, comedians are rebels, brave enough to risk detention for saying things like “knock-knock” or, heaven forbid, a pun. New members are inducted with a solemn oath to “preserve the punchline, honor the irony, and risk everything for a well-timed wit.” However, they must first undergo rigorous tests, including:
- Deadpan Training: Essential for keeping a straight face if the Fun Police raid the speakeasy.
- Dark Humor Endurance: A final test of a member’s ability to appreciate controversial jokes without fainting from shock.
- Snark Detox: Members must detox from their “online persona” to remember humor beyond sarcasm and self-deprecation.
The Speakeasy Experience
SPOL’s comedy speakeasies offer laughter in its raw, unfiltered state. Comedians perform stand-up routines without ever pausing to ask, “Is that offensive?” or “Did that post well on Insta?” It’s a cathartic experience for patrons, who’ve forgotten that jokes were once meant to be funny, not just “uplifting.”
Hidden behind fake bookstores or laundromats, these speakeasies only operate by word of mouth, with regulars giving cryptic directions like, “Take a left at the mural of the grumpy cat—don’t ask questions.” Inside, the walls are decorated with illicit laugh-track recordings, cartoon drawings banned from TV, and printed screenshots of comments like “lol” from the last days of unrestricted humor.
Each night, the room is silent as the host takes the stage, clears their throat, and announces, “We’re going to attempt… a joke.” The crowd collectively gasps, and for the first time in years, someone actually chuckles. It’s like hearing a unicorn sneeze.
The Punchline Patrol
However, SPOL’s members must always watch out for The Punchline Patrol—a shadowy division of humor-enforcement officers with no sense of irony and an intolerance for double entendres. Their mission: to stamp out anything that might “upset delicate sensibilities,” including dad jokes, subtle sarcasm, and any reference to Monty Python. SPOL members, meanwhile, disguise themselves in bland attire and adopt highly sincere online personas, just in case they’re monitored.
The Dream of Rebirth
SPOL members dream of a world where people can once again laugh at themselves—and at everything else, too. They hope for a renaissance of free laughter, where absurdity reigns, and jokes need no approvals or disclaimers.
In the meantime, they fight in secret, spreading joy one clandestine giggle at a time.
Chris Conidis is a versatile improv performer, filmmaker and writer, celebrated for his inventive blend of improv and comedy from Saint Cloud, Florida. 