I’m a Marxist of the Groucho Variety.

“Laughter us not only the best medicine, but it’s also the best pandemic”-me. One day in my freshman year, I made the mistake of auditioning to be a stand-up comedian. The position was to open for an improv show at my school. I’d lay awake for hours past my bedtime of nine, writing stupid jokes, pointless anecdote, and weird thoughts. And at the end of each night I’d scribble a line through the quips that not even my family would laugh at (they were all asleep anyways), and scratch a star or contorted smiley face near the ones I thought were funny in my head.

Then came the audition day. I was one of ten people who knew about this audition, and one of five that actually showed up. The instructions at the auditions were clear

1. Make the judges laugh consistently for upwards of three minutes

2. Don’t make racial slurs (another good life lesson), and

3. Don’t faint, puke, have a panic attack, or require the need of medical attention any time in the near future (I was a little nervous).

So I told my jokes and otherwise humorous declarations, I profusely shook the hands of all the judges, and double checked that they had my phone, email and fax number. And after I severely annoyed them, I left.

On my walk home, it hit me, I had made all of the eight people in that choir room laugh the kind of laugh that turns milk, and sodas into deadly projectiles out of elementary school noses. I had spread a contagious virus. It infected the helpless bodies around me causing their eyes to water, their jaws hurt, and their sides to burn. They would only regain full control of their own bodies after the hyperventilating stopped. They’d go home to their families and tell of their experience, unknowingly distributing my disease to their loved ones.

Three to four weeks later I received the results of the infamous audition. Much to my dismay it said that I would be performing before the cast of “Major League Improv” took the stage. I would infect so many people. Families, young and old, classmates, and would pay only to be tainted by the bacteria that would line the walls of the theater. They would all be infected, and if I got lucky one or two might die of laughter.

So, all of that being said and out of the way; This I believe: if you can spread the disease of laughter, you will have created a cure for grief.