The Story Undertaker: Laughter is... My poor soul was tortured by a ridiculous private tutor. By God, his rules were so strict, I was hardly even allowed to smile. My father brought him to fix up me rotten behavior I was indeed a tough customer, I must say. Didn't much like obeying anyone's rules. But boy, did obey his. That tutor was as fearsome as a rabid beast, but only when my pop's head was his punishments for acting out weren't what you'd thought I learned never to smile, be happy or laugh, I knew what would always come next. He'd violate me for his own twisted pleasure, touch me here, touch me there, put the fear of God in me with ugly threats to make sure kept me mouth shut. I was but a scared little boy. what was I to do? I was much too frightened to tell me pop; every time the thought crossed my mind.I knew that if I did tell, he'd make me regret it. learned those damn manners,but me pop merely thought the man was doing his job. I dreaded seeing that bastard's face every day. I could do nothing but cringe and take all he was impulse to give me. loathed him: his face, his voice, those sin-stained hands, and I grew to hate myself. It taught me never accept a moment's joy. I had nothing to be joyful about anyway. I took me dark secret to the grave, when at the fresh age of nineteen, I stuck a dagger through me gut. I did it in front of the bedroom mirror... My bloody reflection was hilarious. I died in a pool of it, filled with hatred for me own self image nothing coulda' prevented such a tragic end. Now, I am legendary, but I try not to flaunt that quality too much. My mediocre job as London's one and only undertaker suits me quite well if I do say so me-self. I'm only able to stand the horrid sights in me office every day because of the mutilation I once knew. If you want me service, you've got to tell me something as laughable as the pitiful reflection that stared so empty back at me that day.