Dirty Orphan Jokes Novels & Stories

My smile widened as I mindlessly took off my jacket setting it down on the leather seat. I clung to Dalton chatting with him as Enzo thought it was the time for the like of the day as he called it. It was one of those stupid habits that we had going on as kids and it kinda stuck with us and Enzo was the one with the shittiest and corniest jokes. I braced myself to hear one of his dad jokes, Dalton was holding in his laugh at the eager look on his brother's face already. "What do you call a joke without a punchline?"

“Joke’s on you. We’re going to win. And when we do, these boys are taking off their clothes and skinny-dipping with us while you clean our dirty clothes with your tongue.” My brows lifted. “You’ve been watching too much reality TV.” “I have this crazy feeling one thing’s going to lead to another and I’m gonna get that hockey boy money.” “Sure, Molly,” I said, flashing a cold smile. “Keep those dreams alive. Meanwhile, I’ll be living in the real world where your team of girly girls has no shot at beating a professional hockey team.” Something flickered behind her smug mask. A tremor. A flash of what if I’ve messed up.

Mo’s Pov It was hard to believe, but it was true. Here I was sitting in a garden of ghost orchids, head thrown back as I laughed at the joke Radek shared. “You have to stop,” I heaved, holding my ribs as I held back the laugh that threatened to break out of me again. I could see it now, and that was the reason Daren hung out with him. Behind those narcissistic layers is a somewhat clown, who knew just the right jokes to crack.

Leesa had to give the guy credit. He didn’t seem to let the catcalls and groans bother him. He either had the thickest skin in the world, or he thought the derision was in some twisted way an approval of his act. His jokes were new, but were equally as dumb as the last time. She wondered if he wrote the stuff himself or got it from some website—stupidjokes.com, maybe.

“Uncle Jerry, do you know any more jokes?” I glanced over at Iris, half-expecting her to shoot me down again, but she didn’t say anything. So, I leaned in toward Lyra, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “Alright, alright, here’s a good one. Why don’t skeletons fight each other?” Lyra’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Why?” “Because they don’t have the guts!” I said with a wink, and Lyra burst out laughing, her giggles contagious as Logan joined in, even though he probably didn’t get the joke.

"Okay! Okay! I will stop, but that joke of yours isn't good. Aren't there any more funny jokes?" I sat down next to Shin again. "I still have a lot of jokes," I replied. "Okay let me hear," "Here is a knock-knock joke. Knock-knock," - Me. "Who's there?" - Shin. "Tank," - Me. "Tank, who?" - Shin. "You're welcome!" Shin and I both poker-faced to that joke at the same time so I immediately drew a long line on it. "Knock! Knock!" - Me.

My staff was still semi-hard, in appreciation of the scenery. "You'd think he'd be in a better mood. God, for how many years has he scoped out our tits? And now with them on full display, he's like the Grinch." Jill pronounced, leaning back against a counter with her arms crossed, which put those yummy looking tits on proud display. "Look! You got him to smile! He's alive!" My ornery wife teased. "Water. Food." I grumbled, while they laughed at my misfortune. "You'd think he'd be bouncing off the walls. If I gave Dan a BJ like Sheri laid on this one, I could probably get me a new convertible." Robin chimed in.

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?”

“That guy's breath stinks like rotten potatoes.” If I wasn't so occupied with playing detective for the man who got my best friend knocked up, then I probably would have laughed hard at the joke. But I continued my list, naming every man I could remember Ashley ever dating or briefly mentioning. With each guess, I was met with a denial, a chuckle or an amusing laughter.

“Are you allowed to make dead jokes about your parents?” “I know it’s rude,” he replied, grinning with zero shame. “It’s not supposed to be funny. But I get one morbid joke, don’t I? Don’t we all? Some day you’ll be making jokes about your family too.” I doubled over in laughter, the kind that shook my shoulders and made my ribs ache. Not because it was that funny, but because I needed it. Because it pulled me out of the heavy place in my mind where grief lived. Because he looked so happy saying such a thing when there was nothing to laugh about.