Bad Pun Jokes Novels & Stories

"Did you bring the crack pipe?" "Left it at school." "That's too bad." "Yeah." "You know you should get it fixed." "The crack pipe?" "Yeah." "I'm embarrassed that I heard that." "It was a stretch, I'll admit." "Oh, Jay, there's this guy in my dorm that hangs out with the crew sometimes. Worst forced jokes ever. Ever.” "Let's go inside." "Yeah, OK." She talked as I held the door for her. "You've no idea how bad it is. He'd try to make a joke after a documentary on Human Trafficking or something. No sense of appropriateness." "You should tell him so."

The joke wasn’t funny to me. “What’s going to be my punishment? Your joke is not funny, Arturo! It’s not the right time either! I just got here after one whole week of suffering at the hands of some terrible jerks. It’s not nice that you are making such unfunny jokes without even offering me water.” Any other time, I would not have minded his unfunny joke but now wasn’t the right time. He hasn’t even shown me to my room yet.

I saw it—Gideon Salton taking cash from his buddies, one after another. That was when it clicked: I was just the punchline in some bet. The ones who lost laughed first, then rolled their eyes like I was the idiot. "Madison Montclaire, do you even get how much I lost 'cause of you? Use your brain for once." "We've told you a million times—Gideon's way outta your league. You really thought he'd marry you?"

"Alright, fine. If you won't smile, I'll have to tell you my top-tier jokes. What do you call a fake noodle?" Elena had blinked, her stern frown flickering for a split second. "What?" "An impasta." She had stared at me in absolute, stony silence for three whole seconds. "That is terrible. That is the worst joke I've ever heard." "Okay, okay, tough crowd," I had grinned, my dark eyes sparkling with wicked delight as I stroked her cheek. "Why don't scientists trust atoms?" "Jaxx, please stop…" "Because they make up everything."

“Don’t you mean fangtastic?” “I most assuredly do not.” His face was now stern. I rolled my eyes. “OK, got it. Dick jokes are OK but vampire jokes are not. Touchy much?” His mouth was drawn in a thin line “Funny jokes are acceptable. Others should be met with the derision they deserve.” There was a pregnant pause and all silly jokes and puns rushed out of my head, so I settled for rolling my eyes at him as I jumped off the bar stool instead. “Do you have anyone you need to let know you’ll be away?” he asked

Come on, I'll take three shots as punishment—consider it a toast to you and Macy! Todd stood to the side, his expression shifting between anger and panic. He stared at me intently, as if I were the cheating wife, the disgust in his eyes practically spilling over. Looking at the bunch of fools in front of me, I couldn't even be bothered to be angry. I turned my head and glanced at Terrence. He'd worked under Dad for 20 years. There was no way he'd be able to tolerate anyone insulting me like this. He suddenly raised his hand, about to slap Miguel across the face.

A message bubble lit up under his name, cheerful and oblivious. Just another one of his dry, stupid jokes—something about his dinner being so terrible he was convinced the restaurant was trying to assassinate him with undercooked chicken. He'd probably attached one of those ridiculous GIFs he was always finding, something animated and silly that was meant to make me laugh.

Immediately, Erric exhaled in disappointment, stood up from his seat, and turned away. “He’s kidding, they wanted anyone of us. Of course, you wouldn’t,” Thor slipped in. He had a smile that did not directly depict that he found the joke funny. Erric had seen it before. He hated receiving it—a smile without happiness, flashed only to give a sense of comfort, through pity. They never help; they make him feel helpless. He’s not helpless. He sat down again but more agitated by Thor’s pity than Deuss’ joke. “So who will?” he asked, trying to hide his irritation down.

Maybe he'd disguised it as a rash? "She's a bit busy at the moment, Father!" The demon rolled his hips down, mashing my cheek into the rough-hew of the centuries-old confessional chair, hairy swollen balls striking me in the chin. "Just a little…tongued tied!" Ugh, the puns! Why did they always think they were funny? They had as much wit as a fucking frat boy ten sheets to the wind on a Thirsty Thursday! Imbeciles! Bingo! There we are, right on the taint!

“Why were you laughing?” “BECAUSE HE MADE A BAD PUN ABOUT EXCEL.” “What pun?” “It doesn’t matter!” “Tell me.” “OH MY GOD—” He steps closer. Jealous. Possessive. Annoyingly gorgeous. And then he says it: “I don’t want other men making you laugh.” My breath stops. Instantly. Because he says it so quietly. So seriously. So unfiltered. “I—um—well—laughing is good for my mental health?”