School No. 17 in a grey suburb of Warsaw was hardly associated by anyone with outstanding achievements. When pupils won something in competitions, it was celebrated with such enthusiasm as if they had all just been given tickets for a free tram ride for 24 hours. One day, however, Mrs Szymanska appeared at the door of Class 2f, holding a leaflet freshly printed on suspiciously bright paper. - Who's signing up for the Prank Olympics? - She asked before she had time to sit down. - I need four volunteers. I'm only accepting applications today. An awkward silence fell in the classroom, broken by the quiet rustling of crisps being eaten behind the last bench by Martin. Next to him sat his best pal, Basia, known for her sharp tongue and unpredictable ideas. At the front, Krzysiek was rolling his eyes, holding a calculator in his hands, as a maths class was approaching. And then Kinga's menacingly low voice rang out, who rarely spoke, but when she did, it was better not to interrupt her: - I'm going. But on one condition: no one will tell me what joke to tell. Mrs Szymanska did not even raise an eyebrow, she just pressed a leaflet into Basia's hand, as if her fate had already been decided. What happened next was more like a casting for a crisps commercial than a serious recruitment for the Olympics. In the end, it was Marcin who applied - because "he had nothing better to do anyway", Basia - "to have a laugh", Krzysiek - because he had lost a bet, and Kinga, who evidently treated it as a challenge thrown down by fate. - "Organisational meeting today at 5.30 p.m. in the basement of the school", said Mrs Szymańska and disappeared behind the door, leaving them with a growing feeling that they had missed something. After lessons, the foursome met by the school's shelter, the door to which was usually locked. This time, however, it stood wide open, and from behind it came the smell of freshly brewed coffee and.... bacon? They went downstairs and found themselves in a dark corridor lined with a mosaic of yoghurt cups. At a table with a pile of scattered jigsaw puzzles, other students were already seated - some familiar, some absolutely unknown, like a boy in a dignified dinner jacket and a girl with hair dyed green. Suddenly, the lights dimmed and an older gentleman in a toadstool hat and a suit with a pickle motif appeared in the middle of the room. - Welcome to the Joke Olympics! - he called out, scattering confetti. - I'd like you to know that it's not just about winning with jokes.... It's about much more than that. Basia looked at Marcin in agreement, and Krzysiek looked slightly intrigued for the first time in his life. Kinga was already taking a large rubber duck out of her rucksack. - Silence, please! - continued the announcer. - The first task awaits behind this door. You will each get a piece of bacon for your courage. Everyone who passes this stage will have to demonstrate not only a sense of humour, but also... distance from yourself. At the sound of this sentence, the secret door swung open. There were no more jokes... Or at least not the kind they were used to.