This is for Funny Sun(ny) day, by Addam Ledamyen
The elf and the dwarf walked into the forest. The elf marveled at the scents and sights of the sun-dappled leaves and quiet, springy, downy floor of the ground.
The dwarf thought it was finally cool.
“Hoom-mmmm,” cried a tree, and the elf leaped in surprise. The dwarf looked up sardonically at his friend, now perched on the lowest branch of a neighboring tree.
“I, uh,” said the elf who was not blushing due to tremendous willpower (and the handy makeup artists who spent so much time on his face, thought the dwarf, while the costumer merely handed him his usual boots and said, “good enough”), “I meant to do this,” as he climbed down a bit more gingerly than he was used to.
The dwarf bowed low before the ent and sincerely hoped it was time for an ent-draught. Or something. It was bad enough that the elves made do with sweet crumbs on leaves, but he feared that the ents derived nourishment from the ground or some such nonsense.
“Good day to you, master tree,” said the dwarf.
“Ent,” nudged the elf.
“That’s what I said, dummy,” nudged the dwarf back.
The ent looked at the visitors for what would be far too long a time for the average screenplay reader to put up with, but that can be handled in rewrites.
“Hmm, what do such, uh, hasty creatures want with us?” asked the ent, but I assure you the time it actually took was way too long compared to how long it takes to type. You sorta had to be there.
“We seek your wisdom, oh ancient one,” said the elf.
“Omm,” said the ent who began to meditate of all things.
“We seek the know what makes something funny,” continued to elf.
“He’s funny to me,” said the dwarf, “and I’m funny to him, but neither of us know why.”
“Hmm, the thing that makes for humor is,” started the ent, who then paused for — no, seriously — about an hour, and then his limbs shook and his leaves rattled, and then he made a noise that cannot be described even if you paid me. As the sound settled and echoed throughout the forest, and leaves slowly circled down to the ground, the elf and the dwarf looked at each other as if to say what did we just witness?
“I ask your forgiveness,” said the ent, “for we do not like to do that in front of strangers.”
“Do what?” asked the elf with true puzzlement.
“I believe you hasty types call it a, uh, sneeze?”
The elf and the dwarf look at each other again and smiled.
“Why do you mock me?” asked the ent at seeing their smiles.
“We do not mock thee,” said the elf, stiffing a chuckle.
“You do, you DO!” said the ent.
At which the dwarf started roaring laughing.
“Yes,” said the elf nodding to his friend, “he’s right this time. The chief rule of humor must be seriousness.”
“What DO you mean?” asked the ent as the elf and the dwarf walked away.
“Come BACK,” boomed the ent, “and bring a box of Kleenex or whatever you elves use, which I think involves leaves, which offends me in a way.”