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Here's my needlessly long, overly expository effort at making sense of this madness. Seriously this is too long. :/

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SpoilerSmithtopia; legally speaking it is the best place in the world because if you dare to suggest otherwise then you are committing A Crime. The many Will and Wilhelmina Smiths (you are legally required to change your name upon arrival in Smithtopia. Attempting to hold onto your old name, the last vestige of that outside world, is A Crime) that live in Smithtopia are in actuality far from happy. The List Of Crimes is so long that there it more than likely covers every eventuality including ‘Asking What Is A Crime’, ‘Looking Like You Are About To Commit A Crime’ and ‘Thinking About Crimes’. However it would take more words than this entire story to tell you the many ways in which the people of Smithtopia were oppressed, for our purposes we will note the rules that are the most revealing, so to speak.

It is A Crime to wear clothing.

It is A Crime to plan a rebellion.

It is A Crime to modify your state-issued refrigerator.

It is A Crime to imply that there is an outside world.

“The refrigerator one probably isn’t that important actually. That was something of an oversight, please ignore it.” Will Smith, leader of the state supported faux rebellion, felt that this lecture was going even worse than usual. His job was simple, people sought him out to become part of the rebellion, he’d do some kind of speech about how awful the government were just long enough for the enforcers to arrive and take the dissenters away for immediate humiliation, torture and death for the ‘amusement’ of the rest of the population. His main problem with his job, besides the crippling guilt, was that he would often slip back into his old job and try to slip a joke in there. It was today after the potential rebels were taken away that he was taken aside by his boss Will Smith and told that he was fired. He was told that he was performing an important task and undermining it with jokes was tantamount to A Crime. He was told that the refrigerator joke had been the last straw. He was also instructed that he had until this time the start of work the following day to find a job because as he knew:

“It is A Crime to be unemployed.” His boss parroted the rule back to him, as though Will didn’t already know it.

Will Smith, the now unemployed former lecturer, and even formerer comedian, left the rebellion hall and decided to swing by the Town Square and watch the latest batch of criminals slowly tortured and killed. He had never actually been down to the executions before. He had always been too busy writing his lecture for the next day, a wholly pointless task since nobody ever heard the lecture more than once. He’d shut his mind off from the humiliation and the brutality that he sent those who came to him to. As he watched the braying audience cheer for the deaths of those who simply wanted to live without oppression, he slowly realized that he could not stand idly by while this was going on. He had to do something.

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Meanwhile Will Smith, famous for, amongst other things, his role as the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, was hard at work. As much as his line of employment in Smithtopia could be compared to work; when compared to the forced labour inflicted upon the average Will or Wilhelmina Smith on the street it was practically relaxation. He was currently deep in rehearsals for a play of some kind. It was fairly obviously a propaganda piece. The entire thing was made up of thinly veiled references to how great Smithtopia was, and if that was not enough of a clue the entire thing was written, directed and produced by Will Smith (the former American Football player and current President of Smithtopia). If you wanted further clues you could cotton onto the fact that the play was being rehearsed and performed in the governmental manse.

Will Smith (the former fresh prince now governmental stooge) was more than happy to propagandize Smithtopia, he had been given preferential treatment since his arrival in this ‘paradise’. He’d been immediately set up with the Wilhelmina of his choice and given one of the largest housing complexes in Smithtopia. He regularly had Will Smith (the former American Football player and current President of Smithtopia) and his wife Wilhelmina over for dinner and a game of volleyball. Life was pretty good for Will Smith; if he had been a little more paranoid he might have come to the conclusion that he was being buttered up for his particular set of skills, but as he did not, we will not either.

After the state required end-of-rehearsal orgy Will Smith grabbed his stuff and started home. As he left the governmental manse he bumped into his old friend Will Smith (the recently fired faux-rebel lecturer and former comedian). With them both being famous (just about famous in Will’s Case) Will Smiths in a small town it had been pretty much inevitable that they would meet and befriend one another. They stopped for a chat, though Will’s mind was not on the antics of the former Fresh Prince, but on getting hold of Will’s identification so he could get into the governmental manse and take a good look around. While Will was lost in one of his own tall tales Will snatched his identification out of his bag and quickly made his excuses.

Will, the other Will’s identification in hand, approached the governmental manse and prayed that his skill as a master of disguise would see him through this particularly tricky situation. At reception; a reasonably attracted Wilhelmina Smith. Will showed her the identification he had swiped and put on his best Will Smith impression: “I left some of my stuff inside after the rehearsal.” Wilhelmina squinted at the card and at Will. Just as Will began to believe that his cover was blown she nodded and waved him through. Once into the building proper he laughed with relief. He didn’t know why he had been worried. He was after all a master of disguise.

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Annoyingly once inside the governmental manse Will found himself being herded towards the studio where Will had been rehearsing his play. The other doors simply would not budge for his identification, and as we all know it is A Crime to try to open doors you are not supposed to open. The studio was dark and eerily empty. At the far end, shadows moved in the dim-light from a backroom. Will cautiously approached this backroom. Inside there was a Wilhelmina (the wife of Will ‘the former fresh prince of bel-air’ Smith) and a couple of Wills, one of whom was instantly recognizable as the President of Smithtopia. He and Wilhelmina were sat together, his arm softly caressing her as the other Will Smith talked about the object he was stood in front of. Will (unemployed Will) easily recognised it as a video camera, although there was a bizarre futuristic attachment the like of which he had never seen before.

“The Subliminiser takes anything that is recorded and adds a layer of inaudible noise, beyond the register of any human.” The camera demonstrating Will Smith explained. “Regardless of whether or not it is perceived this noise is still heard and it essentially primes the mind, makes it malleable. Any information that is heard while in this suggestible state becomes to them irrefutable truth.”

“I am aware of the theory Mr Smith.” Will Smith (Smithtopian President) said. “What I want to know is does it work?”

“Yes sir.” Will Smith replied. “We have an entire lab full of people who believe Star Trek is a real thing to attest to the success of the Subliminaliser.”

President Smith laughed. “Think of it my dear Wilhelmina. Your ridiculous husband will be the one to convince the entire world to submit themselves to me.” He turned back to Will. “Move up the filming, now that the Subliminaliser works there’s no reason to hold off any longer.”

“As you wish.” Will replied. He turned and started to work on the camera. President Will stared at him for a minute or so, hoping the undercurrent of annoyance would promptly clear him out.

“Look Will.” Will said. “If you could clear off for a bit, give me a little alone time with Wilhelmina here…”

“Hmm…?” The other Will replied, not turning around.

“We’ve got stuff that we would like to do.” The President said suggestively.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Annoying can’t-take-a-hint Will replied. The President sighed.

“Look I am going to have sex with her. I prefer not to have an audience.” He said.

“Oh right.” Will replied. “Say no more. You don’t have to tell me twice you know.” He made his way to the door, to find Will, the unemployed comedian standing on the other side. You might have thought given the advanced warning he would have hidden himself, but in truth he sort of drifted off towards the end of the conversation and was thinking about what Wilhelmina was getting up to at the moment. The sight of The President standing in front of him jolted him back to reality.

“Well well Mister Smith.” The President said. “It would appear you have unwittingly discovered some things you ought not to know. The question is do I give you the incentive to keep quiet or do I arrange for you to never have the opportunity to tell your story…?”

“I… I can keep a secret.” Will stammered. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The President cocked his head to one sight contemplatively.

“Hmmm… You do have a good track record working for my little ‘rebellion’…” he paused. “Very well Mister Smith. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement. You’ll have your job back obviously, a generous bonus and a juicy raise. We’ll see about setting you up with a good housing complex and a well stocked fridge and a Wilhelmina of your very own. Yes, I think things are going to be pretty good for you from here on out Mister Smith.” He glanced back to Wilhelmina who was flicking through Smithtopian Vogue and then back to the two Will Smith’s (the bribe taker and his assistant). “I trust you can see one another out. I have something that requires my attention in here.” Will was better at taking a hint than Will and so promptly left. As he left the government manse, the cold night air hitting his skin, he couldn’t help but feel that same feeling he had had when he had watched those poor innocent people tortured and killed. He pushed it aside. He had to look out for number one.

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The next morning President Will Smith was having toast with his wife Wilhelmina and glancing over that day’s newspaper. It was as ever filled with pages and pages of stories about how great it is to live in Smithtopia because it is A Crime to have bad news. Though he had been busy keeping multiple Wilhelminas satisfied, he had been thinking about the situation as it stood. He had concluded eventually that Will Smith, the former fresh prince, was pretty much unnecessary in his scheme; if the Subliminaliser worked as intended then the propaganda should be taken for truth no matter how well acted. All he needed was someone trustworthy to act out what would soon become truth, and Will Smith (the bribe taking former comedian) had proved himself thus. He finished his breakfast and called up Will Smith (one of his numerous assistants).

“Will Smith; put him into a Downward Spiral.” The President said ominously.

“Which Will Smith are we talking about?” Will Smith hesitantly replied. “The one from legal who is always like ‘hey Will you shouldn’t put that in there you are mixing recyclables and non-recyclables blah blah whatever’. I wouldn’t mind seeing him go on a Downward Spiral.”

“No.” The President said irritably. “Will Smith the actor who was about to star in the propaganda play.” There was a general noise of agreement from the other end of the phone. “And while you are at it send a message to Will Smith saying he needs to meet me.”

“Which Will Smith are we talking about?” Will Smith asked. “Is this the one from legal?”

And this carried on for a while.

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It was a good day for Will Smith (new governmental lackey). If it wasn’t good enough that he’d been given his job back he’d been informed that he had been promoted. Admittedly it was a promotion to a job that facilitated world domination but still… He had a fancy new house and a sexy new wife. Life was good, and if other people had to suffer to make sure that Will’s life was good well that was not exactly his problem. He walked through the sunny streets towards the Rebellion Hall, he had some stuff he had to pick up; remnants of his old life. As he passed through the lecture hall to the back room, he couldn’t help but notice that amongst the eager rebels awaiting their imminent torture and death was Will Smith (the former fresh prince of Bel-Air). As much as he was in favour of leaving people to their fate Will was his friend. Having collected his stuff he grabbed Will by the arm and pulled him out of the Rebellion Hall into a secluded alleyway nearby.

“What are you doing Will?” He demanded.

“I’m taking down this wretched government.” Will replied gruffly. “Yesterday I was riding high, I had it all; the perfect job, the perfect house and the perfect wife. This morning I got fired, evicted and divorced within the space of an hour.”

“Ouch.” Will replied sympathetically. “In terms of bad days that is one hell of a bad day.”

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough I’ve lost my identification.” Will said. “With no identification I’m not eligible to purchase a new house or seek employment, and as you know…”

“It is A Crime to be unemployed or homeless.” Will said. “Yes I know.”

“I never quite realized how awful this government was until I stopped being one of the privileged few.” Will said sadly. “They need to pay for what they are doing.” Will (former comedian Will) regarded the down on his luck actor. On the one hand this was not his problem. On the other he was right, only yesterday Will himself had been thinking the same thing. He’d been ready to take on the government at whatever cost. He sighed heavily, though he knew he would regret it, he couldn’t let himself be swayed by Will’s bribe.

“If you really want to fight the government going in there is the last thing you want to do.” He confided in Will. “Come with me back to my new housing complex. I just might have a way we can take down the government for real.”

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Will Smith (the former fresh prince) had been flagged for death the moment that he had set foot in that Rebellion Hall. It was not long before he was dragged off to be publicly executed under the pretence of having modified his state issue refrigerator. Will Smith (the comedian) did not attend. He had important stuff to set up.

That night in the governmental manse a number of Wills and Wilhelminas had assembled to watch the very first performance of the play that would change the world. President Will Smith sat in the front row, along with a whole gaggle of Wilhelminas. Didn’t you know it is A Crime to say no to the President? Up on the stage stands the star of the show Will Smith (you know the one by now), the cameras trained upon him, the subliminaliser primed and ready to go. This was it. This was the moment that Smithtopia would spread to include the whole world. The President smiled as the lights dimmed and the play began.

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Will Smith said. “I will not be performing the play written for you by President Will Smith. I’m not going to tell you anything you don’t already know; that what is being done here is wrong, that people should have the right to free speech, the option to wear clothes or not, the choice of whom they are allowed to show romantic interest in…”

“Stop this!” President Smith yelled. “Stop him, he is a liar and A Criminal!” Governmental enforcers stormed the stage, their weapons raised at Will.

“Will!” He yelled. “Do your thing.”

“I’m sorry Mister President.” His wife Wilhelmina said, suddenly brandishing a knife.

“Wilhelmina, what are you doing?” President Will demanded.

“Take another look.” Wilhelmina said. The President did so and suddenly realized that the woman he was sat next to was in fact Will Smith (the former comedian who was supposed to be up on the stage performing a piece of Smithtopian propaganda).

“What?” President Will was lost for words. “How?”

“I’m a master of disguise.” Will explained.

“But we…” President Will trailed off.

“Yep.” Will said. “The things I do for this rebellion…”

“If you’re here then who is…?” He turned to look up on the stage. Will Smith (who was formerly the fresh prince and apparently not dead) stood on the stage. “What?!”

“Will taught me a thing or two about disguises.” Will said.

“But you were executed!” President Will continued his bewildered cross-examination.

“No.” Will said. “What you actually executed was a well disguised refrigerator!” President Will sighed heavily.

“Who cares which Will it is? Just kill him!” He demanded. Will (the comedian) held his knife to the President’s neck.

“If anybody tries to interfere with the broadcast I’m slitting his throat.” Will said. “And as you all know it is A Crime to cause the president to come to harm.” And so Will Smith (the fresh prince) continued telling the world how awful Smithtopia is.

“The joke is on you.” President Will muttered. “We didn’t turn the subliminaliser on yet.” Will Smith (the comedian) laughed.

“The joke is on you.” He said. “We don’t need a mind control device to make everyone see how awful this place is. All we need is a medium, a platform from which we can shout out how awful Smithtopia is. The rest will happen on its own.”

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And indeed it did. Overnight the people of Smithtopia rose up and overturned President Smith’s corrupt government. They reclaimed their clothing, their freedom and importantly their identities. At one point during the night President Will escaped and there was a big chase sequence through the rebelling streets of Smithtopia blah blah blah you get the picture. In the end they shot him.