Book Jokes Humor Novels & Stories

“Jokes have owners, Grace! Do not try to crack one if you know you will do something contrary to what a joker can, and that is to pull a smile or erupt outbursts of laughter from people. That back there was not a joke at all, Grace!” I say that because if she was joining, that was a terrible one. She should know that she stinks at it.

I joked lightly, and Serin rolled his eyes at my poor excuse of one. "Funny," he said humorlessly. I only cackled even harder. "No, seriously. You should step out of the corporate world and become a comedian with jokes like that." "Aw, come on, Serin." I followed him out of the house and into the backyard, where he walked out for some fresh air. "It was kind of funny, admit it!" "You need to admit yourself into a mental hospital with jokes like that." ###

“It’s a bartender’s job to know his customer’s drink. I remembered it was Barbara Casey’s favorite and I just figured..,” “Well, you figured right, thanks. Can you believe this crowd? I just escaped a verbal putdown of lawyers. It was brutal,” Rachel took a large sip of her drink. “I guess turnabout is fair play,” Bob said. “What do you mean?” “Rachel, you’re in a roomful of postal employees. Don’t you think they’ve heard enough Going Postal jokes to want to pick on some other profession?” “I suppose you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any less offensive. Might be a good plot for my next book,”

He made me laugh, a genuine, bubbling sound that felt good after the fear. “Your turn,” he challenged, when he finished. “Tell me a joke. Something to keep the darkness at bay.” I thought for a moment. “Okay, okay… What do you call a fake noodle?” He raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. “What?” “An impasta!” I delivered the punchline with a flourish, and he actually laughed, a deep, booming sound that warmed the room. “Alright, alright, that was a good one, for a rookie,” he teased. “My turn. Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

"Rude! I’m a model citizen. I only commit crimes against humor. Not that I’d ever need to rob a bank!" "Crimes against humor," I chuckled. "That’s one way to put it. Your dad jokes are a whole different category." "Hey!" he said, pretending to be offended. "My dad jokes are basically an art form." He pointed at me like a teacher about to drop knowledge. "Why did the scarecrow get promoted?" I shot him a wary look. "Frank—" "Because he was outstanding in his field," he declared, laughter bubbling up as he reveled in his own joke.

Apologize to all the other examinees! "It's his upbringing. How on earth did his parents raise him? "This is a classic example of a person who has book smarts but no real capability!" As he continued reading, Uncle Leonard noticed that some people had already started doxxing our home address. Some even said they wanted to come to our house to demand an explanation. At that, Mom's face turned pale with fear, and Dad panicked as well. I looked at their expressions, filled with despair, and I knew that this was only the beginning.

“Do you like jokes?” “I do,” I said. He told me one about a duck in a library that made no sense and made perfect sense because he laughed so hard at the end that he forgot the last word and had to start again. Emma rolled her eyes and said she had a better one, and then her punchline was the same as Eli’s by accident and they both laughed until Stella smiled, and I had to look down for a second because the feeling in my chest was too much. When the laughter faded, Emma picked at a crumb and looked up. “Where do you live?”

“Whatever you’re doing at ‘work’ tonight… hurry home. Both of you can fuck me senseless for all I care.” I snorted at my own joke, then immediately winced because yeah, that was a weird thing to say even alone. Little did I know how soon that joke was going to bite me right in the ass. And how much I was going to enjoy it when it did. [ You might be reading this wrong, but trust me, the real thrill is still ahead.^^]

Heavy with shit we weren’t saying. I cleared my throat. “Alright. That’s enough depressing hospital talk. You know what would really make my day better?” He glanced at me, brows raised. “A really dumb joke.” Andrew blinked. Then tilted his head a little, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. “A dumb joke?” I nodded, lips curving around the cigarette still hanging from my mouth. “Come on. Hit me.” He gave me a look—half skeptical, half amused. “Fine. What do you call a sad strawberry?”

“We'll see about that.” I am shocked; he is cracking jokes, he is actually laughing and smiling. “Where to now cause I am hungry now?” he asks. “A quick stop at the bookstore.” Then there is that burst of laughter again, “Fuck don't tell me you are going to read too.” “Yes, I am going to read.” “Where is Jenna? What have you done to her?” “Very funny.”