Historical Humor Novels & Stories

“You’ve attended royal parties as you mentioned and that makes you a better caliber than most of those socialites attending that annual event. Half of them can’t even waltz. But you, definitely know how to.” “And how did you know that?” she was beginning to be amused with his reasoning. “I guessed,” he stated matter-of-factly. Aurora laughed. It was a marvelous sound, he decided her amusement evident in her eyes. He was somewhat surprised; he was able to make her laugh. He was not a joking sort. He knew he’s got no sense of humor. He used to be regarded as humorless when he was still in Harvard. But hearing her laugh at his remark was indeed a pleasant surprise. His next statement however, s

"So how's the classic literature conversation going? Did he recommend any exciting Dickens novels?" My stomach dropped. How the hell did he know about that? James must have talked. Or maybe Nate overheard something at the office. "The conversation is great," I lied without blinking. "I'm sure. Especially the part where the Hundred Years' War lasted exactly one hundred years." Shit. He'd definitely overheard. "Everyone makes mistakes," I said defensively. "Of course. Especially medieval history professors making mistakes about medieval history." "You're unbearable," I muttered, turning away. "And you're being stubborn. If he's so interesting, you should go back to him."

I asked, "So, Miss. How is it going with the Dark humour guy? Any update so far?" "HA! Dark humour! He's the funniest guy, I've ever met. Didn't you hear that line of him? I mean he called himself motherfucker; oh my, that's the kind of humour I love. Every time he cracks a joke, it makes me head over heels for him. And not forget his awkwardness around girls" the sarcasm was dripping from her mouth. But that changed my mood. And we both started chuckling, "He's not that bad!" I exclaimed. Right? He's not that bad.

Then someone in the crowd sneered, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that must be Sophia's sugar daddy. Showed up to defend her. She's not picky, is she. She'll take a guy in his fifties." The crowd erupted. Some covered their mouths, laughing. Others joined in openly. "Yeah, I heard she doesn't care about age. Maybe this old man's a regular too." The dean's expression tightened. He turned sharply toward the crowd. "All of you–shut your mouths!" He glanced at my injuries, his voice urgent.

“Tell me which of these dead guys I have to memorize to pass.” I shot him a look. “They’re not just ‘dead guys.’ They’re historical figures. Try respecting them for once.” He raised a brow. “So serious. I swear, you were born a hundred years too late.” “Keep talking and I’ll make you write a five-page essay on the American Revolution.” He grinned. “You’d read it?” “Only to correct every mistake.” “Then maybe I’ll make a few on purpose,” he said, leaning back in his chair, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Need help? Or do you need someone to dramatically throw it out of the window for you?” I couldn’t help the small puff of laughter that escaped. “You’re not funny.” “I’m hilarious. You’re just too stressed to appreciate fine comedy,” he replied with a mock sigh. “So what’s got your brain twisted in knots? Is it the treaties? The histories? Please don’t say the battle strategies. Those gave me nightmares.” I looked at him, and smiled,he was trying to make me laugh, he must have noticed that I was stressed. There was humor in his voice, but his eyes were watching me carefully—soft, concerned, like he saw through the armor I thought I was still wearing.

Thursday, at lunch, she laughed. It was Marcus Chen again, who had come by the penthouse for what he described as an informal meeting and what Elena recognized as another inspection. He was telling a story about a competitor, dry and specific, the kind of insider humor that required context she didn't have. Victoria wouldn't have found it funny. Victoria's humor ran toward wit and social satire, sharp and polished. She wouldn't have understood the punchline of Marcus's story because the punchline was quietly absurd in the way that only worked on people who appreciated absurdity for its own sake.

“She's starting to make jokes now.” “I was always funny,” I shot back. “You just weren’t paying attention.” Juno giggled from across the room. “You’re one of the most serious people I know, Thea. I think the last time you tried to tell a joke, it was about F. Scott Fitzgerald.” The brothers and Juno all laughed, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. It was gentle, teasing. Easy. “Hey!” I protested. “There’s lots of humor to be found in classic literature. Just look at Shakespeare! He’s full of excellent jokes.”

"Ms. Sampson's villa isn't home for the homeless. They're your parents, aren't they, Felix? Figures. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Ugh, I can still smell the mud on them." Rage flared within my heart, but I held it back and quickly wiped the water off my in-laws. Diane had a short fuse. She would not stand for this insult, so she snapped, "And who are you supposed to be, you uneducated swine? How dare you call Felix a homeless man!" Zack did not hold back. Instead, he pressed on the attack. He picked up a ceramic ornament and hurled it at Diane. I deflected it with my hand, and the ornament grazed me.