Comedy Gags Novels & Stories

The absurdity of the moment overwhelmed me, shattering my composure into laughter that erupted from the depths of my being. I couldn't contain it, and I collapsed onto the soft lawn, clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face. Kenny and Jasper, my partners in crime, were quick to catch on, and soon they too were convulsing with laughter. Our family members, bemused and entertained, watched the scene unfold with quizzical smiles. It was a much-needed moment of levity, a respite from the stress of wedding planning.

I announce primly, except I can’t seem to make my feet move. “Obviously the box is a gag gift. Clearly, with all of this manliness I’ve got going on, I do not have to resort to inflatable pussy.” I roll my eyes hard. “Whatever you tell yourself. Dick.” “Dick Balsac isn’t my real name, by the way. Just to be clear.” “Oh, I wasn’t calling you Dick Balsac,” I clarify. “I was just calling you a dick.” “Hilarious,” he says flatly. “So you’re a comedian. I assume that’s the reason for your entourage over there?”

And in that acceptance lay the fragile peace and the hard-earned purpose that would carry them forward. It would not be grand speeches or life-altering miracles that carried them forward. It would be the small, often awkward, sometimes hilarious moments that slowly stitched their lives back together. Abby, for example, who had spent years trying to carry the image of the strong, disciplined eldest brother, became the accidental comedian of the household. One morning, while trying to fix a leaking pipe under the sink, he emerged drenched, soap bubbles in his hair, and a kitchen towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. “Behold,” he declared, voice booming with mock grandeur, “Abby the G

She chuckled and then broke into delighted laughter. He grinned. “You get that I’m joking?” “Well, of course you’re joking. Vomity ones.” She laughed again. “Too funny.” “Most people don’t get my jokes. Say they’re inappropriate.” He finger-quoted inappropriate. “Are they idiots?” “Arguably.” She laughed again. “A woman who gets my jokes…” His pleased little grin turned into a broad smile. “Can I buy you a coffee sometime? Or a jet?” “A jet?” She laughed until her stomach ached and she had to bend over with her hands on both knees to catch her breath. “You’re killing me.”

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.

She raises her eyebrows, clearly expecting some appreciation for her terrible humor. And even though I try to resist, the laugh bursts out before I can stop it. It’s so loud it actually echoes, and suddenly, every pair of eyes in the sparring room swivels around to stare at us. But honestly? I could not care less. Jennie’s standing there grinning like she’s the funniest person on the planet, and maybe she kind of is, to me anyway. “Jennie, that was so bad, I might actually have to file a complaint with the dad joke committee,” I manage, clutching my stomach because apparently, my body forgot how to laugh quietly.

It felt good—light, like a breath of fresh air in this park where the wind rustled the leaves around us. We sat on the bench after that, side by side, our shoulders almost touching. He started telling these silly jokes—the kind that weren’t even funny, just dry and ridiculous, like “Why did the scarecrow win an award? Because he was outstanding in his field.” Corny as hell. But I laughed anyway, hard and genuine, because the real joke was how bad they were, how he delivered them with that straight face like he thought they were gold. It warmed me up inside, chasing away the chill for a bit.

I blink at her like she’s speaking in tongues. Then I start laughing. One of those belly-born cackles that starts deep inside your stomach — usually right in the middle of a church service — and you’re not sure what exactly is so funny, but you just can’t stop. The kind that always ends in tears, a weird hiccup, or — heaven forbid — a fart. Some of the staff start laughing at me … definitely not with me. My laughter fades into some hiccup snickers. I focus on Sky’s face.

He grins. I felt my chest moving up and down and I was obviously holding myself to laugh. "Oh God I hate you.." I covered my eyes with my hands while bursting myself in laughter as I kept glaring at him. Gage threw his fist up in the air and laughed. "I won! I made you smile. Not only smile, but laugh too." I pulled my head up to him and smiled, "Oh you're soooo happy of what you accomplished." "I am. Yes I am. It was by far the greatest and sweetest knock knock joke that I've ever made up." He winks.

"You have no idea–I was just joking around, but those disgusting guys went crazy asking me for your contact." The old me would have already been crying, asking her how she could do this to me, voice breaking. Not this me. My teeth clenched so hard they hurt. My whole body trembled with anger. I snatched the flyer out of her hand and slapped her across the face. Tara screamed, clutching her cheek in disbelief. "You hit me? I treat you like my best friend, and you can't even take a joke anymore?" Best friend? I let out a cold laugh.