LAUGH OUT LOUD: DEATHBED DIARIES

Opening Scene:

(The stage bathes in an ominous glow, pulsating with a kaleidoscope of neon lights. Tombstones scattered across the set flicker to life with words like "Secrets Never Rest" and “Confessions From Beyond." Thick fog rolls across the floor, curling around the glowing props like ghostly fingers, as an eerie, remixed version of Another One Bites the Dust pumps through the speakers, warped into a chilling tune. The atmosphere screams macabre spectacle.

Suddenly, from the swirling mist, Morty Mirth appears — a skeleton host with razor-sharp wit and a flair for the dramatic. His sequined blazer glitters like a disco ball in a graveyard, and his glowing bowtie pulses in sync with the music. He struts to center stage, his bone-thin frame moving with surprising swagger, a mic clutched in his skeletal hand.)

Morty Mirth:

"Good evening, my dearly beloved — and soon-to-be dearly departed!" (He pauses for a dramatic gasp, his hollow eyes widening comically.)

"Welcome to Deathbed Diaries! The only show where the Grim Reaper takes notes and your favorite characters spill their dying secrets for your twisted entertainment. Tonight, we unearth confessions so scandalous, so side-splittingly absurd, you'll wonder why you ever thought heroes died with dignity!" (He leans in, stage-whispering with exaggerated conspiracy.)

"Because my friends don't. Don't expect boring old last words like, 'Tell my wife I love her,' or ‘I buried the treasure under...” (He slaps his skull in mock horror.)

"Oops! Spoilers! No, no, no. These dying words are a cocktail of comedy, chaos, and a few cases of existential crisis — shaken, stirred, and served bone-chillingly cold!"

(The fog machine hisses again, nearly obscuring him, and Morty coughs dramatically, waving a skeletal hand to clear the air.)

"Let's dig right into tonight's countdown before I collapse from suspense — or this smoke machine finally sends me back to the underworld!" (With a flamboyant flick of his wrist, he points to a glowing tombstone labeled "#10.”)

"Here's the first of tonight's dearly departed — brace yourselves, it's going to be a grave situation!"

Number 10: Jack Dawson – Titanic

(The stage transitions into an icy scene, with blue spotlights casting a frigid glow over the set. The fog machine pumps out an Arctic chill, and the audience is treated to a kiddie pool filled with water, encircling a hilariously flimsy replica of the infamous floating door. The door tilts precariously, wobbling under the weight of its importance. The spotlight dims, and the scene shifts to Jack gripping the edge of the door with frostbitten hands. He shivers violently, his teeth chattering louder than the music swelling in the background. Meanwhile, Rose lounges on the door like she's soaking up the sun on a Caribbean cruise.)

Jack (gasping, through dramatic shivers):

"R-Rose... listen... You had room for me at the door. Let's be honest: You had room for three people. But... I just couldn't take another minute of your singing. You've been humming My Heart Will Go On for hours, and if I had to hear one more verse..." (He shudders, this time not from the cold.) "I figured freezing to death was the easier way out."

(Rose bolts upright, her face a mixture of disbelief and rage. Her breath puffs in the frosty air as she glares down at him.)

Rose:

"You WHAT?! I told people for YEARS about your sacrifice! I named my dog after you! I THREW A DIAMOND INTO THE OCEAN FOR YOU!"

Jack (meekly, raising a finger):

"Yeah, about that diamond..."

Rose (cutting him off, her voice echoing like a banshee's wail):

"NO! Don't even say it!"

Morty Mirth (mockingly wagging a bony finger):

"Jack Dawson didn't let go of the door — he let go of Rose's vocal cords! And can you blame him? I mean, Rose, sweetie, maybe pick a guy who appreciates an off-key Celine Dion classic next time. Or at least one who's tone-deaf."

Number 9: Darth Vader – Star Wars: Return of the Jedi

(The stage transitions to a stunning Death Star throne room recreation. Dim, flickering lights cast eerie shadows across the glossy floor, and the faint hum of the Death Star's core resonates in the background. Smoke wafts through the air, carrying the acrid scent of burnt plastic and melted dreams. Center stage lies Darth Vader, slumped in Luke's arms. His breathing is loud and grating, like a broken air conditioner struggling to cling to life. The spotlight shifts to Vader, his helmet slightly askew, as he gasps out his confession. His voice is distorted but laden with the weight of the absurdity to come.)

Darth Vader (between raspy breaths):

"Luke... I... lied. I'm... not your father. It's... Chewbacca. I just... really wanted to win the custody battle."

(Luke's face contorts into a perfect storm of shock, betrayal, and existential dread as he recoils, nearly dropping Vader onto the floor.)

Luke:

"WHAT?! How... HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!"

Morty Mirth:

"Luke, buddy, I wouldn't waste too much time figuring out the biology here. Just embrace your new Wookie heritage — because let's face it, the Force works in mysterious... and very hairy ways."

 Number 8: Cinderella's Fairy Godmother – Cinderella

(The stage transforms into a whimsical fairytale scene, with twinkling lights and an upbeat soundtrack. But the music abruptly shifts, slowing into an eerie, distorted melody. Glittering decorations fade into cobwebbed corners, and a once-pristine pumpkin carriage sits lopsided and deflated in the background. The spotlight shifts to the Fairy Godmother lying on her glitter-dusted deathbed, her once-radiant sparkles fading into dull gray. Cinderella kneels beside her, clutching the hem of her now-tattered gown. The Fairy Godmother takes a labored breath, her voice shaky yet resolute as she delivers her shocking confession.)

Fairy Godmother (gasping):

"Listen, Cindy... I wasn't really a fairy. I work part-time at Party City. The dress? Spray paint and duct tape. The pumpkin? Borrowed from Trader Joe's. I didn't even return it — those late fees are brutal."

Cinderella (voice shaking):

"Wait... so you're saying... everything was fake? My dress, my carriage, my dreams?"

Morty Mirth (grinning slyly):

"So much for 'bibbidi-bobbidi-boo' — it was more like hustle-and-glue. Cinderella's fairytale wasn't just a magical night — an arts-and-crafts project with a strict budget."

Number 7: Dumbledore – Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

(The stage transforms into the ominous Astronomy Tower. The cold stone floor glistens faintly, lit by the eerie glow of magical sparks fizzling. Dumbledore lies crumpled on the ground, his robes singed and his once-majestic beard slightly frazzled. The faint scent of burnt fabric and a lingering sense of magical guilt hangs heavy in the air. Morty Mirth, standing nearby, twirls a wand that sputters weakly, shooting out occasional sparkles like a malfunctioning firework. The spotlight shifts to Harry, kneeling over Dumbledore's limp body. Harry's face is a mixture of grief, confusion, and that ever-present teenage angst. He leans closer as Dumbledore's eyes flutter open for one last moment of cryptic wisdom.)

Dumbledore (whispering weakly, his voice fading):

"Harry, listen closely... The Elder Wand... it's just... a fancy back scratcher. The Deathly Hallows? Made them up. Good branding, though, right?"

(Harry recoils, looking as if he's been hit with a bludger to the face. Snape steps forward, his robes billowing dramatically, as always, and sneering with the satisfaction of a man who's been waiting years for this moment.)

Snape (in his signature drawl):

"Potter, you've been risking your life for a glorified infomercial prop."

Morty Mirth:

"Well, well, well. It turns out that Dumbledore wasn't Hogwarts' greatest headmaster; he was its first QVC host. Harry, my boy, ensure it comes with a return policy the next time you go on a death-defying quest."

Number 6: Tony Stark – Avengers: Endgame

(The stage erupts into the chaos of a war-torn battlefield. Flames flicker in the distance, casting shadows over the wreckage of the final showdown. The scene transitions to Tony Stark sprawled on the ground, the Infinity Stones' energy still coursing through his damaged body. Pepper kneels beside him, holding his hand as tears stream down her face. Tony's breathing is shallow, but he musters just enough strength for one last revelation.)

Tony Stark (gasping, his voice weak but steady):

"Pep... listen. I need you to know... I didn't build the Iron Man suit to escape the cave. I built it because... I forgot to pack a sweater. The missile thing? Total coincidence. I just... really hate being cold."

(Pepper blinks, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. Before she can respond, Captain America steps forward, frowning deeply, his shield dangling loosely at his side.)

Captain America (incredulous):

"Wait... so all of this — the Avengers, the battles, the fate of the universe — started because you were... cold?"

(Tony gives the faintest nod before his head tilts back, his eyes closing as the light fades. Pepper stares at him, her hand trembling, while Cap looks like someone just told him his shield was made in China. Morty steps into the scene, holding up the helmet as if presenting it to the audience.)

Morty Mirth:

"Tony Stark: genius billionaire, philanthropist, sweater enthusiast. Who knew the greatest hero of our time had a knack for fashion and improvisation? We love you 3000, Tony, but next time, maybe just invest in some thermal underwear."

Number 5: The Wicked Witch – The Wizard of Oz

(The stage shifts into the witch's ominous castle, its crooked walls lit by flickering torches and the glow of bubbling cauldrons. The faint smell of burnt Kool-Aid and desperation waft through the air. Morty Mirth struts across the set, waving a dripping mop like a magical staff. His laughter echoes theatrically, mimicking the witch's infamous cackle. The spotlight shifts to the witch, dramatically melting into a bubbling puddle in the center of the room. Dorothy stands nearby, clutching Toto with wide-eyed horror. The Witch gurgles, her voice echoing as she gasps out her shocking revelation.)

Wicked Witch (choking out her words as her green form collapses):

"I didn't... melt... from water." (She coughs, a bit of green goo sputtering.)

"I slipped on my mop bucket... and fell into a vat of expired Kool-Aid! The monkeys... framed Dorothy!"

Dorothy (stammering):

"So... I didn't kill you?!"

(In the background, two flying monkeys exchange a sly look and high-five, their screeches of laughter echoing through the castle. Morty enters the scene, wringing out the mop as he addresses the audience.)

Morty Mirth (shaking his head in mock disbelief):

"Well, well, well. Turns out, Dorothy's murder charges just got overturned. A Munchkin lawyer is drafting a wrongful death suit against Kool-Aid somewhere. 'Oh yeah,' indeed!"

Number 4: Captain Hook – Peter Pan

(The stage transforms into a creaky pirate ship swaying gently on the high seas. The sound of crashing waves and the faint cry of seagulls fill the air while the smell of salty ocean mist mingles with an oddly out-of-place whiff of peanut butter.

The spotlight shifts to Captain Hook lying dramatically on a makeshift bed in his cabin. His crew gathers around him, their expressions ranging from worried to outright baffled. A jar of peanut butter sits conspicuously on the table beside him, its label smeared and lid bent. Hook coughs theatrically, summoning his strength for one final revelation.)

Captain Hook (glaring at the jar, his voice filled with bitter regret):

"Listen closely, lads... Pan didn't cut off my hand. That story was a lie. I lost it... trying to open a jar of peanut butter. It was crunchy, and I was in a rush. My sword slipped, the jar toppled, and the next thing I knew... I was down a hand and drowning in shame."

Peter Pan (laughing incredulously):

"So all those years of dueling were just you trying to cover up a snack-related accident?"

Morty Mirth (stepping into the scene, shaking his head):

"Well, there you have it, folks. Turns out peanut butter wasn't just sticky — it was catastrophic. Captain Hook, maybe next time, stick to smooth or, better yet, hire a jar opener."

Number 3: The Genie – Aladdin

(The stage transforms into the opulent golden palace of Agrabah. The shimmering walls radiate warmth, the air sparkling with a magical haze that smells faintly of cinnamon and missed opportunities. The spotlight shifts to Genie, reclining lazily on a plush gold pillow, his blue form surrounded by towering piles of treasure. He flips a gold coin idly, his expression uncharacteristically smug as he drops his bombshell.)

Genie (shrugging):

"Aladdin, kid, I've got to come clean. The whole 'three wish rule'? Yeah, it's a scam. You had unlimited wishes. You just lacked imagination. I mean, who asks to be a prince when you could've wished for, I don't know, a churro factory that never runs out or a flying Jacuzzi?"

Aladdin:

"Wait— you mean I could've wished for ANYTHING?!"

Genie (nodding, unfazed):

"Yup.Flying palaces, infinite pizza, a personal karaoke dragon — endless possibilities. Honestly, I was rooting for Carpet. At least he thought outside the box."

Morty Mirth:

"Aladdin, buddy, you didn't just waste three wishes — you wasted cinematic potential. Next time, maybe read the fine print or at least ask about the terms and conditions on your magic lamp."

Number 2: The Evil Queen – Snow White

(The stage transforms into a shadowy, foreboding forest. Twisted trees loom ominously, their branches clawing at the misty air. A cracked magic mirror hangs from a gnarled tree, its surface flickering dimly as if it's on the brink of shattering.

The spotlight shifts to the Evil Queen, lying dramatically on a grand, over-the-top deathbed draped in black velvet. She clutches the cracked magic mirror as though it's her last lifeline, her breath ragged and her expression a mixture of desperation and guilt. The dwarves stand at the room's edges, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright exasperation.)

Evil Queen (gasping, her voice trembling with shame):

"The mirror... lied. I bribed it with enchanted beans to say I was the fairest. Snow White was always prettier, and I couldn't face it. So, I... I paid for compliments!"

(Grumpy steps forward, tossing his pickaxe to the ground with a loud clank, shaking his head in disbelief.)

Grumpy (grumbling):

"Lady, I could've told you that for free."

Snow White (stammering):

"So... you poisoned me... because of your budgeting issues?"

(Happy leans toward Snow White, nodding sagely.)

Happy (with a small smile):

"I told you she wasn't stable."

Morty Mirth (smirking):

"Magic beans for compliments? Really, Queen? Therapy would've been cheaper — and no one would've died. Also, next time, skip the apples. Kale is trendier nowadays, and nobody wants to kill for it."

Number 1: Mufasa – The Lion King

(The stage returns to the iconic gorge, with endless waves of wildebeests stampeding on a loop in the background. Dust hangs thick in the air, swirling with the faint metallic tang of impending doom.

The dramatic weight of the scene is undercut only slightly by the neon sign above that reads, "Circle of Life Cancelled.”)

Morty Mirth (speaking gravely, his voice low and reverent):

"Mufasa.The noble king. The guiding light. The tragic victim of betrayal... or so we thought. His death broke us all, left us weeping into our popcorn, and scarred us for life. But tonight, my dearly beloved, his final confession doesn't just rewrite the Circle of Life — it shatters it."

(The spotlight shifts to a heart-wrenching recreation of the gorge. Simba stands over Mufasa's lifeless body, his tiny frame trembling as tears streak his dusty fur. He nudges his father desperately, his voice shaking with grief. Mufasa's paw twitches, and he gasps faintly, summoning his last ounce of strength to speak. Simba leans in, his ears perking up as his father begins to speak.)

Mufasa (his voice weak and labored):

"Simba, listen closely. Scar didn't kill me. It was... his tofu casserole. I was running for the bathroom... when I tripped. My death is... digestive karma."

(Simba reels back, his tiny mouth hanging open in shock as Scar saunters smugly to the edge of the cliff above. The light catches his gleaming green eyes as he peers down at the scene, his tail flicking lazily.)

Scar (smirking):

"Well, I did tell him it was experimental. I warned him it wasn't lion-friendly."

Morty Mirth (grinning slyly):

"Mufasa's death wasn't a betrayal — it was poor meal planning. Scar, next time, try steak. And Simba? Maybe double-check what's on the menu before swearing revenge."

(The gorge fades back into Morty's eerie graveyard set, the chalk outline glowing faintly behind him as he places a tofu casserole dish on a pedestal labeled "DO NOT EAT." He turns back to the audience, his grin widening.

Closing scene:

Morty Mirth:

"And there you have it, folks! The top ten deathbed confessions that rocked the afterlife. But remember, my dearly beloved, the real takeaway here is: Always read the fine print, check your cleaning supplies, and maybe leave the tofu to the vegetarians."

(He spins on his heel dramatically as the lights dim, the sound of stampeding wildebeests fading into the distance. The stage goes dark, and the words "Secrets Never Rest" flicker back into view as the curtain falls.)