miyako73
12-14-2012, 01:36 PM
I feel I need to inject funny parts in the novel I've been writing to break the monotony of gloom and doom. Writing jokes has never been my forte. This is my first attempt:
Martin and I were classmates from first grade to fourth. The nun who spoke French called him “L'enfant terrible”—and rightly so. I knew nothing about him before I heard his name in Sister Sonia’s English class. He did not have to introduce himself to me or to us. On the very first day, he made his obnoxious, belligerent personality known to the class.
“Martin, give me a word for B”, asked the nun.
“Batman,” he said.
We laughed, but the nun was furious. She thought of a hard letter to give him again, the one in which he could not fool around. “Give me a word for Q?”
He stood thinking for awhile, sweating and scratching his head, and looked around for cues but found nothing. “Q… Q… Q…Q…” he rattled.
“Go on, Martin.” The nun smirked, confident he could not come up with something absurd and silly.
He faced the nun eye to eye like he was ready for a kill. “Quick Batman.”
Martin made us laugh again, but the nun would not let it pass without a reprimand. His punishment, he filled the entire board with “I promise not to do it again.” He struggled, some letters unreadable and others outright ugly.
“No more superheroes in my class,” warned the nun, holding the long stick for the blackboard and the thick ruler for our hands. She called Martin again who just finished a whole chalk writing his promise. “Are you ready?”
“I am, Sister.”
“Give me a word for P.”
“Penis,” he immediately said like he did not care how the nun would feel. Nobody laughed. Some did not understand the word. Others like myself were too shy to react.
“Are you trying to make me lose my patience?”
“Sister, it’s a word and not a superhero.”
“Okay! Give me another one for Z!”
“Zebra.”
“Good.” The nun smiled, thinking Martin got it this time and had kept his promise to be nice. “Very good.”
“I’m not done, Sister.” He interrupted the satisfied smile of the nun.
“Do you want to give another word?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a zebra…”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s a zebra…”
“I know.”
“It’s a zebra with a big penis.”
The nun grabbed him by his collar and pushed him outside the classroom. She had him kneel on the Bermuda grass-covered ground under the heat of the late morning sun.
Martin and I were classmates from first grade to fourth. The nun who spoke French called him “L'enfant terrible”—and rightly so. I knew nothing about him before I heard his name in Sister Sonia’s English class. He did not have to introduce himself to me or to us. On the very first day, he made his obnoxious, belligerent personality known to the class.
“Martin, give me a word for B”, asked the nun.
“Batman,” he said.
We laughed, but the nun was furious. She thought of a hard letter to give him again, the one in which he could not fool around. “Give me a word for Q?”
He stood thinking for awhile, sweating and scratching his head, and looked around for cues but found nothing. “Q… Q… Q…Q…” he rattled.
“Go on, Martin.” The nun smirked, confident he could not come up with something absurd and silly.
He faced the nun eye to eye like he was ready for a kill. “Quick Batman.”
Martin made us laugh again, but the nun would not let it pass without a reprimand. His punishment, he filled the entire board with “I promise not to do it again.” He struggled, some letters unreadable and others outright ugly.
“No more superheroes in my class,” warned the nun, holding the long stick for the blackboard and the thick ruler for our hands. She called Martin again who just finished a whole chalk writing his promise. “Are you ready?”
“I am, Sister.”
“Give me a word for P.”
“Penis,” he immediately said like he did not care how the nun would feel. Nobody laughed. Some did not understand the word. Others like myself were too shy to react.
“Are you trying to make me lose my patience?”
“Sister, it’s a word and not a superhero.”
“Okay! Give me another one for Z!”
“Zebra.”
“Good.” The nun smiled, thinking Martin got it this time and had kept his promise to be nice. “Very good.”
“I’m not done, Sister.” He interrupted the satisfied smile of the nun.
“Do you want to give another word?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a zebra…”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s a zebra…”
“I know.”
“It’s a zebra with a big penis.”
The nun grabbed him by his collar and pushed him outside the classroom. She had him kneel on the Bermuda grass-covered ground under the heat of the late morning sun.