In the quaint village of Cegielnia, where the air is thick with the smell of clay and unfulfilled dreams, one could ponder the philosophical implications of living in a place that has more bricks than souls. It's a community where the motto “Brick by Brick” isn’t just a construction strategy, but also the local life philosophy for achieving nearly anything—like cracking a smile. Cegielnia is often mistaken for a brick factory, and in many ways, it is. The residents pride themselves on crafting the toughest bricks known to humanity, designed, one would assume, to withstand the relentless weight of their collective seriousness. There’s an unspoken competition among the locals as to who can create the heaviest brick. They tell tales of a villager who once created a brick so dense that it became a local tourist attraction—people would come from miles around just to try and lift it. Rumor has it, they charged an admission fee, but laughs were still free and mysteriously absent. The village’s sense of humor is as solid as their bricks. You might think that living in such a robust environment would inspire some levity, but alas, the laughter is as rare as a warm day in a Polish winter. When jokes are told in Cegielnia, the punchlines are typically met with the same reaction as a poorly made brick: an awkward silence and the sound of a distant crow cawing, sounding far too much like a critique. Imagine a friendly gathering where a brave soul decides to tell a joke: “Why did the brick go to school? Because it wanted to be a little boulder!” The room, warmed only by the glow of a single dim bulb, goes cold. You could hear a brick drop—unless, of course, it was one of those weighted ones meant for lifting, in which case it simply thudded with an air of grave solemnity. Instead of rolling on the floor, the locals might just roll their eyes while mentally estimating the weight of the nearby bricks. Yet, the villagers possess an intriguing coping mechanism—they suppress their laughter and express it instead through a series of exaggerated eye-rolls and head-shakes that could rival any interpretive dance routine. This unique brand of humor, built not on laughter but on incredulous disbelief, keeps the villagers connected in a way that is as sturdy as the bricks they cherish. “Did you hear that one about the chicken?” one villager might say. “No? Neither have I, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have cracked a smile.” The village has its own unique cultural identifiers: the annual “Brick Humor Festival,” where the highlight is a competition for the heaviest-anvil-sized brick. However, instead of showcasing comedy, the main event is a somber discussion about the structural integrity of different brick types. Contestants wear serious expressions and scholar-like glasses, zealously defending the virtues of their chosen bricks while the audience nods with a grave understanding, like a congregation at a particularly tepid church service. You could argue Cegielnia is a place of introspection, where the locals find humor in the same place they find bricks – in the impenetrable solidity of life itself. Perhaps these villagers have figured out something profound about existence that the rest of us have missed. They’ve seen the futility in forcing laughter and opted instead for a contemplative silence, a shared bond stronger than any mortar. As visitors, we might leave Cegielnia with aching cheeks—but not from laughter. No, we’d feel like our cheeks were pressed against a solid brick wall, taking in the village’s earnestness and resilience—having learned that, much like the bricks they so carefully craft, the humor here is exceptionally tough, and perhaps best left unturned. So, the next time you hear someone say, “It’s as tough as Cegielnia’s humor,” just remember, they’re not just talking about the bricks.