How to Write Funny Comedy & Humor

In The Comedy Bible, author, Judy Carter, says aspiring script writers should get to work on a spec script. But don’t expect to get paid for it. That’s not how the system works. You’re more likely to win the lottery than you are to make a buck on your script.

So why bother?  Because what the spec script can do is display your talent; maybe help you get an agent or manager, or even a writing assignment. And some day, you might even make a lot of money—if that’s important to you.

Oh, and forget about writing an original sitcom pilot with you as the star. Regardless of how talented you are, Judy says the investment in such a gamble is too dangerous and painful for most producers to even consider.

Anyway, if scripting is your goal, start with The Comedy Bible and jump to the chapter titled: “19 Days to Writing Your Sitcom Spec Script.”  When you’ve digested all it has to offer and have read the rest of her book, get a copy of The Complete Book of Scriptwriting, by J. Michael Straczynski.

While The Comedy Bible covers the whole spectrum of comedy writing, Straczynski’s fat book concentrates on scriptwriting for television, film, animation, radio and the stage.

If you have the talent and put forth the effort, these two books will give you  tools, tips and techniques you need to crank out that spec script.

(Cover my butt  info: I’m an Amazon Affiliate.  If you buy either book, I’ll get a little bread. And that’s a good thing. But I wouldn’t recommend them if I didn’t think they were excellent.)

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It is positively, excruciating to watch somebody bomb. The flop sweat is real. The     performer knows he’s dead, and the audience knows he knows it. Everybody squirms in agony until he says, “You’ve been a great audience,” and slithers off the stage (or page).

The most painful bombing I ever saw was at a poultry producers’ convention in Lancaster, PA. It was obvious whoever booked the comic never reviewed any of his material or gave him a heads up on the audience.  And I’m sure the comic never gave a thought to the demographics of the audience he would face.

Chicken people have a good sense of humor. They can handle earthy stuff.  They do it all the time.  But this guy was trying to get laughs with blue material that was only suited to a roomful of folks who’ve already been primed with their two-drink minimum. This audience, on the other hand, was well sprinkled with young 4-H boys and girls, Amish men and Amish women, and many other God-fearing folks. Their last two drinks were probably fresh milk.

Now, this same guy might have been a smash at a pub in Poughkeepsie, but he was lucky the chicken folks didn’t pelt him with eggs.

The point is, whether your material is for the page or performance, know your audience. All this guy knew was that he was before chicken folks.  But his jokes about getting laid or roosters on Viagra wouldn’t fly. (Neither would that rooster—he’d be too tired.)

Some audiences can handle edgy material, but don’t try it on farm folks in Lancaster, PA. Save it for open mic nights at comedy clubs.

Oh, and if you’re on a convention’s entertainment committee, cover your ass. Watch a comic’s promo video before you book him, and then brief him on the audience he’ll face. Do it and you won’t have to be on the defensive when your critics say, “Where in the hell did you find this guy?”

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Patrick McManus, in The Deer on a Bicycle, refers to a smile as a laugh’s lesser sibling.  That’s a nice metaphor. It illustrates that a smile is a respected member of the comedy and humor writer’s family. Cherish it and it will take some of the pressure off your prose.

Nothing is worse than a piece that tries heroically for the hearty laugh but stumbles when it’s reaching for the funny bone. Your clever wit becomes witless when the reader just doesn’t get it.

Once in a while, think in terms of a pleasant little item that earns a smile. It can free up your creativity and help you with the big laugh. And if it doesn’t?  Well, you’ve still earned a smile and maybe the attention of  readers who will want to enjoy more of your stuff.

Here’s an example from my portfolio that may make you smile. If you’re easily amused, it may even make you laugh.

Sometimes a Good Pair of Drawers Is Hard to find

By Jack Rawlins

My name is Professor Chico Teako. I teach co-ed exercise classes. I want to tell you about the time I split my pants and why I wasn’t wearing my $45 dollar Capoeiras with the ‘reinforced crotch piece for maximum comfort and durability’ when it happened.

Ten years ago on a trip to South America, I attended a Capoeira (pronounced kap-oo-air-uh) festival and became addicted to the sport. Capoeira is a stylized martial-art dance from Brazil .It’s characterized by acrobatic fighting maneuvers and athletic dance steps that can make a break-dancer envious. When you watch it, you can understand the need for a set of tough drawers. Without my Capoeira pants, I was an accident about to happen.

I come from a long line of pants splitters. Gran Da Farcus Teako was famous for habitually popping his seams in public. Regardless of how much weight he gained, he always tried to stick with the same size pants. He liked the sleek fit to which he was not physically entitled. He moved his belt lower and lower to compensate as his pot grew. But he could not make adjustments for his big backside.

Gran Ma would say, “The old fool popped his britches again; he just can’t accept the fact that they don’t make thread strong enough to support such a powerful ego.”

My dad, too, was a splitter. He liked to hunker down and play with my brother and me, but his pants didn’t. Often when he would squat, his pants would not.

So as one who has witnessed and been party to many a split, I’m immune to the embarrassment felt by anyone who splits when he’s not going anywhere. It’s an accident that gives new meaning to the cliché’ “I’m outta here. ”

I had a lot of experience before the Capoeira split that I want to tell you about.

In eighth grade I tore the seat out of my pants climbing over a chain link fence to retrieve a football. Technically it was not a split but the exposure was pronounced. Miss Sherrie, the playground proctor, who also taught home economics offered to baste my buns. I wasn’t sure if she was using the term for cooking or sewing. Anyway, she took me to the home economics room and deftly basted the gap tightly enough to survive my bus ride home.

While she worked she said if I was in her class she would give me A-plus for deportment.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because, “she said, “for a young man with his butt hanging out you are remarkably poised.”

My next exposure came at a track meet my freshman year in high school. I was anchor man in the one-mile relay. The runner handing me the baton made a smooth pass but stumbled, grabbed the waistband of my trunks and pulled them down to my ankles. I couldn’t just stand there, so I lurched forward, kicked them off and took off. It was an important race, so I finished the lap in my jock.

As Coach Vince Lombardi said,” Winning is not everything – but making the effort to win is.” We didn’t win the race. But I did get a nice round of applause at the finish line.

Last fall, my wife was attending a personal trainer’s seminar in the Poconos the week I started my first six-week Capoeira session. Now I’m a procrastinator and I didn’t discover until minutes before the class I couldn’t find my Capoeira pants, my jock strap, or even a clean pair of jockey shorts.

Desperation is the mother of inspiration. I grabbed a pair of my wife’s panties and squeezed into them. It was a tight fit, but actually they felt more comfortable than a jock or jockey shorts. And who was going to see them anyway? Who? I’ll tell you who. The whole damn class–that’s who.

I slipped on a pair of my regular snug old sweat pants, entered our basement studio, welcomed the class, and swung into action. Capoeira is full of high kicks and movements that tax the crotch.

I don’t know when the first little glimpse of pink showed and burst into a gapping split like the maw of a hungry animal.Not until the class erupted into hysterical laughter did I realize I had been alternately mooning and flashing thirty men and women for five minutes.

I conducted the rest of the class sitting down. When it was over, Lisa Foggiti, one of my star pupils said, “Professor Teako, you gave new meaning to the term, ‘Let it all hang out.’ We got to see a side of you we’ve never seen before.”

At the end of the six-week session, it was Lisa who presented me a present from the class: A gift certificate to Victoria’s Secret.

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Today a lot of humor is based on nasty sarcasm. McManus’ humor is different. His sarcasm combines both wit and irony, but nobody is deeply wounded. It’s more like the good-natured teasing between friends.

In The Double-Jack Murders, Sheriff Bo Tully, his associates, friends, relatives, and adversaries serve the zingers with easy lobs. For example, when he tells his lunch date, Susan, that at Crabbs’ restaurant he always orders the beef dip and fries, and it’s always good, she says, “That’s what I like about you, Bo, your sense of adventure.”

When Tully’s dad, Pap, comments, “I’ve always found fleeing to be the best defense,”

Tully says, “I come from a family of warriors.” That’s gentle sarcasm. And the book is full of such gentle jabs.

For an instructive sampling of Patrick McManus work, read The Deer on a Bicycle, excursions into the writing of humor. While humor often suffers from analysis, the author offers examples of his funny stuff with commentary on how it was constructed and what makes them work.

I am an Amazon Associate, so both I and Patrick will profit if you buy either of the above books.  And that’s a very good thing.

Here’s a freebie from my portfolio. Example X   The Exit Interview.

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When used with skill, irony is a powerful tool for those who want to write funny. But like any sharp tool, it can be dangerous. As with satire, verbal irony can sometimes confuse your audience. If you’re too clever you can muddle the message, and then the laugh is on you.

The audience must know that you’re really kidding.  They shouldn’t have to think “Is he/she kidding?”

Sometimes the line between the readers “getting it,” and just getting confused is a delicate thing. They must know the intended meaning is the opposite of that expressed by the words used.  For example, when the wind is blowing up a gale and a character says, “My, isn’t this a pleasant breeze,” you know he means it’s nasty as hell. It can blow you out of your skivvies.  But if he says, “It’s a great day for a regatta,” you might literally agree with him even though that’s not what he meant. He still meant it’s nasty as hell.

When you call a blubber-gut Slim, that’s verbal irony. It’s a verbal sneer. The intended meaning is opposite your choice of words.

And then, there’s situational irony. It’s tougher to create, but it lends itself to story form which helps. For example, if a sperm donor looses a days pay because he had a nocturnal emission the night before and his motility count was low, that’s situational irony.

Here’s a short example of situational irony that’s easy to understand.

Enjoying Art for Art’s Sake

By Jack Rawlins

“Arthur, I think that’s disgusting!”

“Come on Britney, it would be fun.”

“How could watching some ditz slide up and down a pole possibly be fun?”

“Honey, it’s called a pole dance. It’s a little known art form.  It’s just good clean adult entertainment.”

“Art, how can humping a pole be art? “

“Britney, they don’t hump the pole. They dance around it while they slide up and down.”

“Where did you get the idea that it’s art?”

“Well, before I met you I knew a girl who did it. When I asked her why, she said it’s a real art form and she needed the money.”

“That makes her an artist?  Did you know a lot of artists before you met me?”

“No! No! Just that one.  But I think if you see these ladies perform you’ll agree that it takes a special talent.”

“Oh, I know. The pole is a phallic symbol. That’s why it’s art? And another thing… Buster, who knows so much about pole dancing… how about the lap dances they do with the customers between acts for $10.00 a pop?  Is that art?”

“It’s just good clean fun. You know, like making love in the shower with your pants on. The customers don’t touch them.”

“How is somebody gyrating in your lap not touching?”

“The law says the customer can’t put his hands on any part of her body.”

“Art, that is disgusting, disgusting.  Where is this place where I should witness this art form?”

“It’s the T. & A Club at Cherry and Sixth.”

“Oh, that club. I used to work there.  Art, baby, I’m just yanking your chain. Sure I’ll go if that’s what it takes to get you horny. “

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© Copyright 2007 Smiling Jack (UN: jackrawlins at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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