Through no fault of my own, actual pieces of news sometimes, somehow, work their way into the inner confines of What's So Funny headquarters. Situated comfortably in my vacuum-sealed, germ-free giant obelisk that hovers menacingly above the city, kestrel-like in its vigilance, one would think mine would be an impregnable fortress of humor, a comical refuge where the dick jokes flow like wine, where men in ill-fitting tuxedos engage in hilarious pratfalls hourly, and where someone is always, always, teasing a penguin.

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