Laugh Track Enemies

Eli Kramer and Dana Scott had two things in common: a crippling dependence on caffeine and an unrelenting hatred for each other.

Once up-and-coming stand-up stars on the New York comedy circuit, they had quickly become arch-nemeses, the kind that passive-aggressively ignored each other backstage and fought over who got the better mic slot at dive bars. Dana thought Eli was a relic with punchlines that belonged in a dad-joke calendar. Eli thought Dana was an overhyped Twitter comic who couldn’t survive five minutes without a ring light.

Both were wrong, and both were broke.

Their accidental reunion happened at a charity fundraiser—a desperate gig neither of them could afford to turn down. It was a rooftop event for a gluten-free dog treat start-up, and the audience mostly consisted of influencers trying to out-post each other. Dana had just finished bombing her set when Eli was introduced with the unfortunate phrase, “And now, the guy you sort of remember from a streaming show you probably didn’t finish.”

As fate (and poorly placed stage decor) would have it, Eli tripped on a ring light cord, knocking into Dana, who was still sulking near the bar. She went down with a spectacular splash into a decorative fountain filled with kombucha. The mic, still hot, picked up every syllable of Dana’s very explicit commentary.

And someone filmed the whole thing.

Within 24 hours, the clip—complete with dramatic slow-motion and a dubstep remix—was everywhere. "Fountain Fail: Comedians Go Kombucha" had racked up over 10 million views. The world thought they were a comedy duo. A chaotic, clumsy, clearly unfiltered pair.

Suddenly, their inboxes were full: talk show offers, podcast invites, even a cereal brand wanting to sponsor a "morning roast" web series. There was just one catch—they had to work together.

Initially, their collaboration was like watching two cats try to share a bathtub. Rehearsals devolved into arguments over who got more screen time. Dana accused Eli of writing jokes that required a time machine to understand. Eli said Dana’s humor was so millennial, it came with avocado toast.

But, begrudgingly, something clicked.

When they stopped trying to outshine each other and started embracing their differences, the chemistry was undeniable. Their new sketch show, Don’t Try This at Home, became a surprise hit. Audiences adored the bickering, the banter, the low-budget stunts that usually ended with someone bruised and both of them soaked in some form of trendy beverage.

Off-camera, things were trickier. They still annoyed the hell out of each other—but now with a strange affection beneath the sarcasm. Eli admitted Dana’s writing was sharp. Dana, after a few whiskeys, confessed Eli’s delivery could still kill a room.

Fame, as always, was fickle. But by then, they had something better than viral fame: an act that worked, a show that paid, and a partnership built on mutual irritation and reluctant respect.

And if they occasionally pushed each other into fountains on purpose?

Well, the internet never complained.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed the chaos, comedy, and accidental camaraderie, stay tuned—because sometimes the best laughs come from the most unexpected duos.