Why is there no place for Laughter at the banquet table of organized religion? Could it be that, if invited, Laughter would behave so badly that it might upset first the cart bearing the golden apples (being served as the first course of temptation and enslavement), and then the whole table as well? Is the high priest’s chair the one place on the face of the Earth that’s off-limits to a whoopee-cushion? What’s become of the smiling Buddhas with the roly-poly bellies and the laughing Taoists who, just before they died, concealed fireworks under their robes so that the mourners gathered at the funeral fires would be giggled, tickled, rollicked, and rolled out of their grief?
Compassion is one of the most powerful and beautiful forces of human nature, but tie a smile as a wick around a glass jar of compassion, fill it with the fuel of laughter, and you have a Molotov cocktail capable of sending the blue meanies that strangle our souls racing for the exits.