(Author's Note: I am having SO much fun writing this, I'm so glad I'm making people laugh, hopefully. Speaking of making people laugh… I will warn everyone now, this chapter contains many VERY bad puns. It also contains a reference to William Shakespeare's Macbeth, act 5, scene 5, starting at verse 19. Loved ya, Billy. The song at the very end, for those of you who don't know your oldies, is by Bobby day. Loved ya, Bobby.)

CHAPTER THREE:

The Reason Why Jin's a Samurai and Not a Comedian

"Ehhh. Ehhh—hic—hhh!" said Mugen, as Jin pulled on his tongue.

"Any luck?" asked Fuu, emerging from the woods. Night had finally fallen; fireflies buzzing around them. So far, two had flown into Mugen's mouth, which was wide open.

"No. New ideas?" asked Jin. He was in a bad mood. His kimono, after being sprayed with salt and tea, had dried stiffly. And he had spit all over his hands from yanking Mugen's tongue.

"Yeah, I got a huge print-out from the internet of different cures!" said Fuu happily, plunking a stack of paper next to Jin. He glared at her over the tops of his glasses.

"Feudal Japan doesn't have the internet."

"Shut up… it advances the plot."

Jin let go of Mugen's tongue and picked up the paper, flipping through idly. "Here's a good one… take seven jumps backwards and make a wish on each one."

"You're a—hic—sadist, aren't you?"

Jin smiled.

Grudgingly, Mugen sighed and climbed to his feet. "I wish—hic—my hiccups—hic—would go away," said Mugen as he jumped backwards as far as he could. "I wish—hic—my hiccups would go—hic—away."

"It has to be a different wish each time," said Fuu.

Mugen cursed and started over.

"I wish—hic—my hiccups would—hic—go away!" he said, jumping backwards. "I wish—hic—I had a p—hic—pony."

"They have to be real wishes," interrupted Fuu.

"How do you—hic—know that's not—hic—a real wish?" demanded Mugen.

"You? Want a pony?" asked Fuu.

She and Jin glanced at each other, then collapsed to the ground laughing. Mugen turned bright red and stalked over to them. "Hic! This is a dumb idea anyway! Hic!"

"Okay… okay… we'll try something else," gasped Fuu, wiping away a tear. "Pinch your earlobes while we think."

Mugen stood holding his ears and feeling stupid while she and Jin poured over their list of potential cures.

"Close your eyes and massage them," said Fuu. Mugen obediently rubbed his closed eyes.

"Chew this gum," said Jin. Mugen chewed it.

"Make yourself puke," said Fuu.

"How am I supposed—hic—to do that?" asked Mugen, chewing gum noisily with his mouth open.

"Think of Jin naked."

"What's—hic—wrong with you, Fuu?"

"Massage the roof of your mouth with cotton," said Jin. Mugen tried it; the cotton and gum got stuck together and he swallowed the whole wad with a choking, hiccupping noise.

"Hmm," pondered Fuu, flipping through the pages. She twirled a lock of hair while she studied them. "Most of this stuff we've already tried."

"Talking non-stop didn't work," said Jin. He and Fuu chuckled.

"Or he can try screaming. But he's loud enough as it is," she said, pointing to another item on the list. She and Jin chuckled some more.

"You guys—hic—aren't helping," said Mugen, who was standing on one foot and blowing on his thumb.

"Quiet. Think of bald men."

"I'm—hic—trying but—hic—they keep turning into—hic—women."

"Bald women?" asked Jin with a raised eyebrow.

"No, hic, regular women."

"You could masturbate. According to the list—" began Fuu.

"No, I already—hic—did that."

"EWWW, Mugen! I was kidding!"

Mugen grinned and hiccupped.

"Pull on your hair," commanded Jin. Mugen remained balancing on one foot, holding a fistful of hair and tugging it as hard as he could.

"You said—hic—you'd actually—hic—help me. This—hic—just hurts," complained Mugen.

"Maybe your hiccups are psychological," said Fuu. "Maybe we're trying all the wrong stuff. I think we should do some mind exercises."

"Only one problem… you're assuming Mugen, does, in fact, have a mind."

"Oh, hic, shut up!"

Fuu told him to sit down. He did, gratefully, feeling extremely sore from all the different things they'd tried so far. He kicked off his geta and tried to relax, but Fuu insisted on asking questions designed to get rid of his hiccups.

"What's your middle name?" she asked.

"How the—hic—hell should I know?"

"Just answer."

"I don't—hic—have one."

"Never mind, then. What color is a white horse?"

"White."

"When was the last time you saw a white horse?"

"I don't—hic—remember."

Fuu leaned very close to Mugen's face, her own twisted in an expression of fierce concentration. Mugen felt uncomfortable. He hiccupped uncontrollably and tried to focus on Jin in the background, who was standing there smiling at him over the top of his glasses, hands on his swords.

"If a plane crashes exactly on the border between North and South Dakota, where do they bury the survivors?" asked Fuu.

"There's no planes in feudal Japan," called Jin from behind her.

"Shut up, Jin. I'm advancing the plot. Well, Mugen?"

"Hic. I don't know. Hic. Where's North and—hic—South Dakota?"

"Think about it."

Mugen thought very carefully. "I don't—hic—know," he said finally, still trying not to look in Fuu's eyes.

"Quick! What does a cow drink!" she barked.

"Milk!" cried Mugen, then he hiccupped and said, "No, wait! Hic! Water!"

"I'll give you five ryu if you stop hiccupping right now!" she shouted.

There was a moment of silence.

"YES!" cheered Fuu.

"Hic," said Mugen quietly.

"Oh, no…"

"That wasn't…" Mugen paused. His body convulsed violently with a suppressed hiccup. "That wasn't a hiccup!" he said quickly. "Give me my—hic—money. Oops."

"I don't have any anyways," said Fuu.

"Oh." Mugen looked down at the ground, softly squeaking.

"Try laughing," said Jin.

"Nothing's really—hic—funny right now."

"I'll tell a joke."

"Oh, this'll be good," muttered Fuu, scooting away from Mugen. Jin knelt on the ground and began, "A three-legged dog walks into a western bar. The bartender says, 'what're you doing here?' The dog says, 'I'm looking for the man that shot my paw.'"

Fuu and Mugen both groaned loudly. Mugen's groan was interrupted with more hiccups.

"Tell a good one, Jin! You're trying to make him laugh, not sob at how pathetic you are."

"Okay, okay. What do you get when you toss a grenade into a French kitchen? Linoleum blown apart.'"

Fuu groaned again. Mugen looked confused. "I don't—hic—get it."

"Wait, I've got another!" said Jin hastily. "What's brown and sticky?"

Mugen shook his head. "I don't—hic—know."

"A stick."

Fuu and Mugen smacked their foreheads.

"Jin, no—hic—offense, but you have—hic—a terrible sense of humor."

"We could try the tea again," threatened Jin.

"No!" gasped Mugen.

"You know what I always say… if at first the tea doesn't succeed… chai, chai again."

"Jin, please!" moaned Fuu. "No more jokes!"

"I could tell the one about the pencil, but it hasn't really got a point…"

Fuu put a hand over Jin's mouth, and then mused, "Hmm. How can we make you laugh without telling jokes?"

"I'd laugh—hic—if you smacked Jin—hic—really hard for all—hic—his bad jokes."

"I'll smack you really hard if you don't shut up," said Jin in a muffled voice from behind Fuu's hand. He pushed Fuu's hand off his face and said, "You know, he was giggling idiotically earlier and that didn't help."

"I don't think it's the actual laughing," said Fuu wisely. "I think maybe he just has to have that thing where you can't breathe and start hyperventilating. You know what I mean?"

"No," said Jin. (The only time he'd come close to laughing that hard was one time when he'd witnessed someone he disliked slip and fall on icy pavement.)

"Never mind." Fuu's eyes suddenly lit up. She looked at Mugen, then at Jin. She motioned Jin over. Mugen sat on the ground watching them while they put their heads together conspiratorially. Jin's head was bowed, turned toward Fuu; she was standing on her toes like a little girl. They definitely weren't up to anything good.

"We have an idea!" announced Fuu as she and Jin both turned around. Jin was smirking. Mugen felt his stomach knot.

"Uh, hic, that's okay. Hic. I'm actually sort of getting—hic—used to these hiccups," he said quickly.

"Nonsense, Mugen!" said Jin. "Stand up."

Mugen climbed to his feet, still worried. "You gonna—hic—hit me about? 'S not that it—hic—hurt or anything—hic—but I wouldn't want you—hic—to strain a muscle."

"Yeah, right," scoffed Fuu. "And no, he's not going to hit you. Jin, toss your swords away."

Grudgingly, Jin tossed his swords aside to show Mugen he wouldn't hurt him. Mugen wasn't assured. He couldn't help but take a small step back when Jin approached him.

"Close your eyes."

Mugen squeezed them closed, expecting something painful to happen, such as having more tea thrust into his mouth. Instead he was tackled to the ground and suddenly, both Jin and Fuu were tickling him.

"Ha ha ha ha—hic—ha ha! Hic! Stop it! Ha ha ha—hic—ha!" wailed Mugen, trying to push them off. He was squealing like a girl; none of them, including Mugen himself, had known he could even make a noise like that.

"We're only doing this for your own good," called Fuu over Mugen's laughter.

"Stop!" he gasped. "Hic! Ha ha ha ha! Hic! I hate—ha ha, hic—you! Ha ha!""

After a minute of being cursed at, laughed at, and hiccupped at, Jin and Fuu agreed to stop. They sat on Mugen with their heads in their hands, pondering. Mugen lay under them, wheezing for air and hiccupping and swearing occasionally.

"I didn't even know he was ticklish at all," said Fuu.

"Me neither," said Jin with a big smile on his face.

"Oh, no! Hic! No! If you ever—hic—try tickling me again—hic—I'll kill you!" warned Mugen.

"Jin wouldn't take advantage of that weakness. Would you, Jin?"

"No," said Jin, smile broadening demonically. Mugen hiccupped pathetically.

"I'm out of ideas."

"Me too."

"Get—hic—off me!"

Jin and Fuu stood up. Mugen jumped to his feet looking homicidal. He took a threatening step toward Jin; Jin held up a hand, fingers splayed.

"You're—hic—gonna pay for that!"

"Try it," Jin dared him. He darted forward and began tickling Mugen again. Mugen fell to the ground sniggering and squealing.

"Can you two please focus?"

"Hee hee—hic—hee," gasped Mugen, rolling away. He sat up with twigs in his hair. "I hate you. Hic."

"Are you ticklish, Jin?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" teased Fuu, reaching for his stomach. He grabbed her hand in a crushing grip.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Sheesh. You have no sense of humor, seriously," she mumbled, taking her hand back and rubbing it.

"I have a great sense of humor. What do you call a digestive system in Cuba?"

"Please, Jin. Your jokes give me a headache."

"Let me finish!" he snapped.

"Okay… what do you call a digestive system in Cuba?" sighed Fuu.

"The castrointestinal tract."

Crickets chirped in the distance. A wolf howled.

"Get it? Casto? Like, gastro, only… Cuba…? Never mind. I thought it was funny," muttered Jin, crossing his arms and looking disdainfully away.

"Okay," said Fuu slowly. "Well, I'm going to go and try to find some new cures. You stay here and… um… work on your act."

Fuu hurried away into the darkened woods. Jin mumbled in annoyance under his breath. "Work on my act! I'm funnier than she'll ever be. Hypocritical little…"

"What about—hic—my hiccups?" whined Mugen.

Jin glared at him. Several seconds later Mugen found himself standing on one foot, one hand holding a ball that he was supposed to be throwing up and then catching, and the other with his finger against his nose. "Tomorrow—hic—and tomorrow—hic—and tomorrow," he recited. "Creeps in this petty—hic—pace from day to day, hic, to the last syllable—hic—of recorded time, and all—hic—our yesterdays have lighted fools—hic—the way to dusty death! Hic. Out, out, brief candle! Hic!"

He switched feet and began singing, "I'm—hic—dreaming of a w—hic—whiiiiite Christmas! Just—hic—like the ones I used to—hic—know!"

He switched feet again. "Life's but a walking—hic—shadow, a poor—hic—player that struts and frets—hic—his hour upon the stage, hic, and then is heard no more! Hic! It is a tale told—hic—by an idiot! Full of sound—hic—and fury, signifying—hic—nothing!"

He paused. "Jin… are you—hic—sure this will help?"

"Huh? Oh… yes. Yes, absolutely," said Jin quickly, leafing through a joke book. "Keep going. You're doing great."

Mugen sighed and switched feet, singing quietly, "He rocks in the—hic—treetops, all the day—hic—long. Hoppin' and a—hic—boppin' and a-singin'—hic—his song. All the little birds—hic—on J-Bird street—hic—love to hear the robin—hic—go tweet, tweet, tweet. Hic. Rockin' robin. Tweet, tweet, tweet. Hic. Rockin' robin. Hic. Tweet, tweet, tweet…"