As a former teacher of theatre, I tried to get my students a little more interested in Shakespeare by telling them of his put-downs in the hope that they might abandon some of their cruder phrases for stuff like "a leash of drawers." Short of the cuts on dumb mistakes like "Way to go, Einstein!" I think the most crucial aspect of the cut is saying it dead-pan and then leaving. Don't stick around to see the effect; don't laugh at your own joke. Example?
I was being ... a-hem ... very physical, shall we say, with a girl in a cast of a musical I was in, but on Opening Night, she left the party with someone else. The worst part of the break-up was still having to bump into her and be civil to her for three more weeks worth of the show's run, but I tried to be nonchalant about it. From time to time, I had to venture into the ladies' dressing room to get a piece of make-up or costume, and I wandered into a conversation on her back hurting. Someone else at the mirror asked, "Well, do you have a hard mattress?" and I simply said "does she ever." and left. After that, there was some baiting by the other girls to try to get me riled, and again I walked in on a conversation on breasts and they tried to get me flustered and embarassed by cornering me and asking if their breasts were bigger or beter than the girl who I'd been with. I stated very simply, "I don't know; I haven't seen yours." and again left immediately. With each departure, I heard the "oohs!" and "got you!" as I left, but sticking around for it, would have been less funny and also a little meaner, I think.
And I believe it was Helen Hayes or Catherine Cornell who once got a review that said "Come to the theatre to see Miss Hayes (or Cornell) span the range of emotions from A to B."
I think your title for your book should be the punch line to Winston Churchill's put-down of Lady Astor's "Sir, if you were my husband...." Something along the lines of "Madam, If You Were my Wife"