Our top story tonight: Famous TV dolphin flipper was arrested

Host:
The newsroom was dim now, long after the broadcast had ended. The red “ON AIR” light had gone dark, and the hum of the cameras had faded into silence. Only the faint buzz of fluorescent bulbs lingered, flickering occasionally — as if reluctant to admit that the show was over.

Stacks of scripts and coffee cups cluttered the anchor desk, remnants of another night’s performance. The teleprompter’s glass still glowed faintly with one last line frozen mid-joke — “immoral porpoises.”

Jack sat in the anchor chair, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, face half-lit by the reflection of the monitor. His laughter from moments earlier had settled into a smile that carried both fatigue and mischief.

Across from him, Jeeny, the station’s producer, leaned against the camera dolly, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. The tension between them hung somewhere between exhaustion and hilarity — the kind of mood that only exists after midnight in a newsroom that’s seen too much absurdity.

Jeeny: smiling “Colin Mochrie once said, ‘Our top story tonight: Famous TV dolphin Flipper was arrested today on prostitution ring charges. He allegedly was seen transporting two 16-year-olds across state line for immoral porpoises.’”

Jack: chuckling “Immoral porpoises. God, that’s brilliant. That’s what happens when wordplay grows up and moves to Vegas.”

Jeeny: grinning “You laughed so hard on air, the camera guy almost dropped the focus.”

Jack: still laughing “Can you blame me? Comedy like that is an endangered species. You don’t just hear ‘porpoises’ and keep a straight face.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “You needed that laugh.”

Jack: quietly “Yeah. After the week we’ve had — it felt like an exhale.”

Host: The red light from the exit sign cast a faint glow over them, washing the room in an oddly theatrical hue — as if the newsroom itself had turned into a stage for two late-night philosophers, dressed as professionals.

Jeeny: after a pause “It’s strange, isn’t it? How humor can break through even in the most serious spaces — like this one. Newsrooms, hospitals, war zones — people laugh when they shouldn’t, because they have to.”

Jack: nodding “Exactly. Laughter’s the body’s way of telling the soul, ‘You’re still alive.’”

Jeeny: softly “And sometimes, it’s the only honest sound left.”

Jack: quietly “That’s the thing about humor — it’s truth in disguise. Colin Mochrie uses jokes to hold a mirror to how ridiculous the world already is.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “So the joke isn’t cruel — it’s clarity.”

Jack: nodding “Right. We laugh not because it’s light, but because it’s heavy, and laughter’s how we lift it.”

Host: The camera monitors flickered, replaying a silent clip of the night’s broadcast — Jack delivering the headline, the faint ghost of his grin visible just before he broke. The image looked almost holy in its absurdity.

Jeeny: softly “You know, that’s the genius of guys like Mochrie. He takes something as dark as a scandal and flips it — literally — into wordplay. He makes you laugh at something you’d otherwise wince at.”

Jack: quietly “Because humor doesn’t erase the darkness — it gives it shape. Lets you see it without letting it eat you.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Humor as armor.”

Jack: nodding “And empathy. You can’t joke that cleverly unless you understand pain.”

Jeeny: softly “So laughter becomes a bridge — between tragedy and endurance.”

Jack: grinning “Between a dolphin and a double entendre.”

Jeeny: laughing “Exactly.”

Host: The sound of rain began outside, tapping against the studio windows. It mixed with the low hum of the leftover monitors, creating a rhythm that felt almost like applause.

Jeeny: quietly “You ever notice how puns, especially good ones, are little acts of rebellion? Like — they defy despair by twisting logic into something joyful.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Yeah. A pun is like intellectual graffiti — it sneaks joy into serious spaces.”

Jeeny: softly “And Mochrie’s made a career of doing that — turning nonsense into sense, making meaning through absurdity.”

Jack: quietly “Which might be the only honest way to talk about the world anymore.”

Jeeny: raising an eyebrow “What do you mean?”

Jack: after a pause “The world’s absurd. People lie, politicians spin, tragedies pile up. Maybe laughter’s not avoidance — maybe it’s the only sane response left.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “So laughter’s realism.”

Jack: grinning “Exactly. A sane man’s scream in a mad world.”

Host: The studio clock ticked past 2 a.m. The newsroom was now entirely theirs — the stage after the show, the theater after the applause.

Jeeny: after a long pause “You know, I’ve always admired comedians for that. They tell the truth, but they wrap it in something that doesn’t cut as deep.”

Jack: quietly “Humor’s anesthesia.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly. It numbs just enough for you to look at the wound.”

Jack: nodding slowly “That’s what Mochrie does — he gives permission to laugh where we’d normally look away.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “The absurdity of sin, the comedy of tragedy.”

Jack: grinning “And the noble cause of immoral porpoises.”

Jeeny: laughing “That one’s going on your highlight reel.”

Host: The laughter between them lingered long after it faded — that shared, fragile kind that lives halfway between exhaustion and grace.

Jeeny: softly “You know, people think laughter’s shallow. But it’s actually one of the deepest things we do. You can’t fake a real laugh.”

Jack: quietly “No. A real laugh is the body’s confession that it still believes in joy.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Even after everything.”

Jack: nodding “Especially after everything.”

Host: The rain eased, leaving behind a hush that felt earned — a silence filled not with emptiness, but with relief. The monitors went dark one by one, until only the small red light of the “Standby” switch remained, pulsing like a tired heartbeat.

And in that dim, peaceful quiet, Colin Mochrie’s words — absurd and perfect — hung like a benediction for the modern world:

That laughter, even born from the ridiculous,
is not escape —
it is resistance.

That a joke is not merely sound,
but a small act of rebellion against despair.

That in a world of tragedy and tension,
humor reminds us we are still thinking,
still feeling,
still alive enough to twist the pain into play.

And that somewhere between the sacred and the silly,
between grief and giggle,
lies the human miracle —
our stubborn, shimmering ability
to laugh for the right porpoise.

Fade out.