WTF?

I'm a little late on this one, but in the name of truth and justice I must speak. A couple of weeks ago, The Ithaca Times wrote a full article on something called Laughter Yoga, which is a loose amalgam of simple yoga poses and fake laughing. Incredible, but true! Apparently there are over 6,000 social laughter yoga clubs around the world and the number is growing! Why, you ask? I have no fucking clue. Maybe it's just another phenomenon that confirms that the universe is indeed a mysterious place. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, amidst all the other crazy shit in the world, some nutty fruitloop had lighted upon a good idea? I decided to try and open my mind... to crystals, past life regression, wheatgrass milkshakes, and even laughter yoga.

But here's the problem: try as I might to embrace the flaming stupidity of it, I just couldn't extract the image from my mind of a group of strangers contorting into the cat pose and forcing themselves to crack up.  I pictured them, gathered in one of those large open fitness rooms with walls of mirrors and swedish exercise balls and racks of chrome dumbbells, holding their bellies in mock theatrical laughter. My mind worked this scene over repeatedly, created abhorring figures such as Rolf, who smelled of raw garlic and wore a beret, a striped mime shirt, and a pencil-thin goatee. Frankly, just the thought of Rolf and his friends was disturbing to me. It was so disturbing to me that I was forced - in the name of science, mind you -  to go check out this laughter yoga bullshit. I would either prove myself wrong (year, right!) or at least confront the madness face to face.  

Here's what I found: Sanisatya, the lithe and attractive Certified Laughter Yoga Teacher, apparently was the leader of this particular fruitloop freakshow. But, aside from the Far East stage name, she did not look very freaky. On the contrary, she had silky raven hair, beautiful pale skin, and was clad in some very comfy velvet-pajama-looking-things. I wondered if they (the clothes) came in men's plus sizes? But what really got my attention were 

Sanisatya's bare feet, which were small, shapely, and lovely; I imagined them in a pair of Bella-Vita slingbacks coordinated with a long suede skirt and a plain white silk blouse. I began to lose focus. 

"Frank," the soft voice of Sanisatya called to me, bringing me back from our imaginary date (which had been going quite well in my head, I should add). "Frank, are you still with us?" 

"Yes," I said, somewhat startled. I think I blushed, such was my enchantment with the lovely-footed instructor-goddess Sanisatya. "I'm here, Your Highness. Ready to laugh!" 

She smiled benevolently and said, "Okay, class. I want you all to inhale as you bend over and touch your toes. On your way up, exhale and say HOO HOO HAA HAA. Repeat ten times, please." 

Everybody bent over obediently. The limber bastards touched their toes with ease and began to HOO and HAA. They did it easily, with grace and fluidity, which forced me to curse them under my breath. I watched them in disbelief and wondered if Sanisatya really expected me to do that. Was she blind? Did she not see the entirety of my fat ass? Did she not notice my pear-shaped body that had certainly not been designed to bend in half. And that's when it happened. That's when the damn of laughter burst within me and I truly grasped the insane genius of laughter yoga. It started with an idea: the idea of me, a two-hundred and eighty pound man clad in a pizza stained Gostbusters t-shirt, bending over and coming anywhere near to touching my toes. Now that was funny, and it started me laughing! The laughter fed on itself. I pictured it again only, as I bent and grunted, my pants split. And I farted. Just a small one, but the timing was perfect! This sent me into paroxysms of laughter. I laughed my ass off! But strangely, no one else was laughing. Why weren't they laughing? What the hell was going on? 

Everybody stood still, staring at me. Something weird was going on - even more weird than laughter yoga. It was like that time when I accidently ate one of my friend Andy's "special" brownies, thinking it was a regular brownie, and suddenly realized that I was the only one in the room experiencing a different reality. Why weren't they laughing? Why were they all looking at me with such sober expressions on their faces? But I couldn't stop laughing long enough to find out. I was in the middle of a laughing fit. I couldn't stop! My initial chuckles turned into deep belly laughs, which eventually turned into a wet hacking cough. And that's when their faces turned dark and malevolent. I had crossed an invisible line, broken the sacred code of laughter yoga. 

"Stop!" they shouted. 

"That's enough!" they wailed. 

"You're ruining it!" they whined. "That's bad laughter. You're laughing at us, not with us!" 

In between coughs I tried to remind them of their basic tenets: that there is no such thing as bad laughter ("All laughter is good laughter," they had said). But they weren't hearing any of it. They threw me out! The bastards tossed me out on the street and told me to never come back. 

So there you have it! Laughter Yoga, friends.