If it gets laughs, it's funny.

Host:
The comedy club was a dim cavern of red light and smoke, pulsing with the smell of cheap whiskey, warm laughter, and the soft buzz of nerves. Onstage, the microphone trembled in its stand — like it knew too much about silence.

It was open-mic night, and Jack and Jeeny sat in the back corner, their drinks glowing under the weak neon of a beer sign. The comedian onstage had just bombed, and the room hung in that fragile purgatory between awkwardness and empathy, where laughter tries to find its footing.

Jeeny leaned forward, eyes still on the stage, her tone somewhere between affection and analysis.

Jeeny:
(quoting softly) “Rachel Dratch once said: ‘If it gets laughs, it’s funny.’”
(She smiles, her voice a whisper just loud enough for Jack to hear.)
“It’s the simplest definition in the world — and the hardest truth to accept.”

Jack:
(chuckling, stirring his drink) “So that’s it, huh? Comedy by democracy. If they laugh, you win. If they don’t, you philosophize.”

Jeeny:
(grinning) “Exactly. It’s the truest meritocracy left on earth. You can’t fake laughter.”

Jack:
(raising an eyebrow) “Sure you can. Every polite dinner party in history runs on fake laughter.”

Jeeny:
(laughs) “True. But I mean real laughter — the kind that erupts before the brain catches up. That’s raw honesty. That’s the sound of people forgetting to lie.”

Host:
The comedian finished, a few hesitant claps scattered like broken applause. The next performer stepped up — nervous, earnest, alive. Jack watched, his expression skeptical but not cruel. Jeeny, meanwhile, was already leaning in again, eyes gleaming in that way only believers’ eyes do.

Jack:
“You really think it’s that simple? That laughter is the only metric for truth?”

Jeeny:
(shrugs) “Not truth. Connection. The moment you make someone laugh, you’ve crossed a border. You’ve met them in the one place logic can’t reach.”

Jack:
(sips his drink, thinking) “Connection through absurdity.”

Jeeny:
(nodding) “Exactly. Laughter is the sound of people remembering they’re human together.”

Host:
The next act began — a man in a flannel shirt, cracking jokes about loneliness. He fumbled, stammered, found a rhythm. The audience began to soften. A ripple of laughter spread, hesitant at first, then genuine — the kind that fills a room with warmth.

Jeeny smiled. Jack did too, but reluctantly, as if his cynicism didn’t want to be seen betraying him.

Jack:
(grinning despite himself) “Okay, so maybe you’re right. It’s contagious — like empathy, but louder.”

Jeeny:
(smiling) “That’s the beauty of it. You can’t control laughter. You can only invite it. And when it comes, it means you’ve surprised the universe — even for a second.”

Jack:
(leans forward) “But that’s the trick, isn’t it? The surprise. The tension. You build it, you stretch it — and then release it. It’s almost mathematical.”

Jeeny:
(playfully) “No, Jack. It’s musical. Every joke is a symphony with a single note of truth at the end.”

Host:
A burst of laughter erupted from a nearby table — sudden, sharp, sincere. It rolled through the room like wind, unplanned and perfect. The comedian froze, grinned, and rode the wave. For a brief moment, the air in the club felt holy.

Jeeny turned toward Jack, her expression illuminated by the red glow of the stage lights.

Jeeny:
“That’s what Dratch meant. You can debate style, timing, taste — but if they laugh, something real happened. Even for a heartbeat.”

Jack:
(quietly, almost reverently) “So laughter is proof.”

Jeeny:
(nods) “Yes. Proof that the heart still responds to the absurdity of being alive.”

Jack:
(smiling faintly) “You make it sound sacred.”

Jeeny:
(smiling back) “Maybe it is. Think about it — laughter is the only sound we make that means nothing and everything at the same time.”

Host:
The comedian finished his set to applause — uneven but warm. The room buzzed with that electric mix of relief and camaraderie that only shared laughter can summon.
Jack looked around, seeing strangers momentarily united by something invisible and pure.

Jack:
(softly) “Maybe you’re right. Maybe humor is the last place where truth can still sneak in unnoticed.”

Jeeny:
(grinning) “Of course I’m right. Humor is the Trojan horse of honesty.”

Jack:
(laughs) “Then we’re all laughing at our own invasion.”

Jeeny:
(toasts with her glass) “To joyful surrender.”

Host:
They clinked glasses, the sound delicate, like punctuation in the middle of a sentence that refused to end. The lights dimmed further, the next comic stepping up as the crowd murmured, still alive with the ghost of laughter past.

For a moment, Jack and Jeeny sat quietly — not speaking, just listening to the collective rhythm of laughter and silence, the heartbeat of a room that believed, however briefly, in connection.

Jeeny:
(softly) “That’s what people forget — humor doesn’t divide, it equalizes. For a second, it erases hierarchy. Everyone’s just... laughing.”

Jack:
(nodding) “And if it gets laughs, it’s funny.”

Jeeny:
(smiling) “Exactly. The simplest equation in the world — and maybe the only one that matters.”

Host:
The camera panned out, catching the two of them — framed by red light, smoke, and laughter — while the world outside spun on, too serious to notice the miracle unfolding inside.

And as the night deepened, Rachel Dratch’s words echoed like a punchline whispered to the stars:

that humor doesn’t need approval,
or permission,
or even perfection —

only the willingness to risk silence,
the courage to surprise yourself,
and the grace to let the world laugh with you
before it remembers how serious it thinks it is.