Humor Scripts Novels & Stories

He finally turns — and God help me, he’s holding a clipboard titled ‘Episode 8: The Elevator Scene — Revised Script. “Script?” I choke. “You wrote a script?” “Improvisation invites chaos,” he replies smoothly. “I am chaos!” He gives me that unreadable, CEO death stare. “Exactly.” Ugh. Touché. “So,” I start, plopping into a chair, “what’s this elevator scene even for? Don’t tell me we’re doing public kissing practice, because my dignity’s still in the ICU from last week.” He adjusts his cufflinks. “There was a leak. Photos of us leaving the café.”

"Not up to the standard? Could you kindly elaborate on precisely what was lacking in the report?" ‌ Officer Smith hesitated for a moment, realizing she had trapped herself. She mumbled something about proper formatting and documentation but struggled to provide a coherent explanation. ‌ The viewers in the live broadcast erupted in laughter and disbelief. Comments flooded the feed, with one viewer writing, "Proper formatting? Are you kidding me?" ‌ Another viewer joked, "Maybe they forgot to use Comic Sans font." ‌ Vanya couldn't help but join in on the comical exchange. "Oh, yes, our report was missing the crucial 'LOL' and 'ROFL' sections, Officer Smith."

I let out a sarcastic smile, “have fun inhaling carbon dioxide there.” With that, they burst out laughing. “We really need to think ways to put some humor inside your brain!” Ave exclaimed, still laughing. I pursed my lips. “I don’t need that.” “As expected from you,” Rebel chuckled. I roll my eyes heavenwards. I don’t need some humor. A bitter smile placed against my lips. I only need someone who’ll save me from this hell. “How about this?” “Your showing too much skin.” “This one?” “Too short.”

“Joke’s on you, I am.” We collapsed into synchronized giggles, the kind that ripple out and make the whole office suddenly aware they aren’t in on the joke. Let them wonder. Vera and I had spent two years constructing our own language of snark and survivor’s humor, and if the rest of the world wanted to catch up, they could start by getting laid more often. “So, are you seeing him again?” I asked, my voice dropping as our boss passed by, phone glued to his ear, eyebrows furrowed in cartoonish displeasure.

God. Joining in. Fair. Becoming someone. Reasonable honestly. For the next hour Lily turned herself into a professional comedian. God. Everything became material. Fair. Faces. Voices. Reasonable. Falling over dramatically. God. Pretending to trip. Fair. Making animal sounds. Reasonable honestly. Peanut rewarded most of it with laughter. God. Tiny wonderful laughter. Fair. The house had never sounded happier. Reasonable. Then later, after the excitement settled, Lily sat beside her sister quietly.

“Brenda the Terrible shall not pass!” Mathapelo giggled, waving her cane for dramatic effect. “Fear not! We have shields of wit and sarcasm!” Gail laughed, ruffling Lou’s hair. “If she comes today, we’ll greet her with cookies and a sarcasm buffet!” Abby shook his head, though he smiled despite himself. Humor, they realized, was a weapon almost as powerful as unity. Lou’s Growth

His booming voice filled the air with glee, As he entertained us, setting spirits free. "Let's say old time jokes, shall we?" Chants of 'yes' sounded around the room. "Did you hear about the vampire who opened a bakery? He got into a lot of trouble because his cakes were always too bloody." The room erupted with laughter, a joyful sound, As we all shared in the mirth that went around. Stephanie chimed in with a witty remark, Adding to the humor, making the atmosphere spark. "Alpha Darwin, have you heard the one about the talking dog?

Drew muttered. Something about her tone, or perhaps it was the truth of what she said, made him laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. He sat there, in a chair labeled with his name, next to his “dead” wife’s stepsister who had been awful to him, holding the worst script ever written in the history of movies, laughing like an idiot. Drew joined in, clearly not exactly sure what was so funny, until they were both laughing so loudly, the guys building the stage stopped and turned to look at them.

I say, he snorts a laugh, "You like that?" "Maybe, yeah, it's going to be funny," he nods, "As long as it's not... gay." "It won't be," I roll my eyes, laughing too. Immediately, I tell myself to fix my face and stop this friendly route, "Anyway, I kept thinking about the natural banter between you and those guys, so it would be fun to show it. I saw a lot of videos of you guys being funny without a script, so maybe I would let you guys have some—"

“You always take the good kernels anyway. This is justice.” The cashier handed us the bucket and two sodas. Mark balanced everything like he was born for it, then flicked my forehead with his free finger the same way he’d done every time we’d come to one of these late-night horror flicks. “Remember last month?” he teased. “You jumped so hard during that ghost scene you spilled half this on my lap. And the month before that you buried your face in my shoulder for like twenty straight minutes. Pathetic.” I rolled my eyes, cheeks already heating up. “Shut up. Those movies were actually scary. This one’s supposed to be… different.”