Innapropriate Jokes Novels & Stories

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.

“Fine. What do you call a sad strawberry?” I narrowed my eyes. “A... depressed berry?” “No.” He grinned. “A blueberry.” It was so dumb. So painfully, ridiculously stupid. And yet I laughed. I could feel it bubble out of me, like I hadn’t laughed like that in weeks. “Jesus Christ,” I said, wiping under my eyes, still chuckling. “That was horrible.” “You asked for a dumb joke.” “And you delivered. Goddamn, Andrew. You’re like a walking dad joke machine.”

In truth, he's an excruciating thorn in my side—unceasingly business, lacking any concept of fun. Frankly, he's a pain in my backside, with his constant focus on work and no fun. I once added mustard to his orange juice, and when he wrinkled his nose, I burst into laughter. He thought the juice had gone bad. Unfortunately, he didn't appreciate the joke, and as punishment for my "Impish Behavior," he extended my study hours.

"This man is sick." Lindy: I HAVE NEVER MET A MAN AS STUPID AND DIRTY AS YOU! Well too bad, I don't fit your standards. I'm a VERY old woman, with cane, white hairs and wrinkles. Milo smiled to himself, “I have way better jokes than that.” He sounded proud. Mill: That's cute. But you call that funny? Okay, I'm giving you a chance this time. But only one time. Ha-ha. See? I laughed. I laughed at your joke because your like a cute little hot ripe apple that's ready to be eaten.

I bore with it for a few days. But it was dragging for more than a week. Now with everyone looking so depressed, it was slowly getting to me and I couldn't have that. So, me being me, I tried, I mean really tried to lighten up the mood. I tried making jokes just about anything, which didn't work. So, I tried making smart jokes, stupid jokes, sophisticated jokes, adult jokes, kids joke and what not. I wasn't even replied with a smile. Not even a tight smile. Nope.

Bradley Fry, my CEO husband, loves bringing his friends home for meals the most. He claims that this makes them feel like an actual family. As they drink in the feast I've whipped up for everyone, one of Bradley's friends comments smilingly, "I knew that you were a virtuous one, Emily! Now this is how the legitimate wife should act!" My expression doesn't falter as I ask in a half-joking manner, "Oh? Does Bradley have a spoiled and pampered mistress by his side, then?" His friends are stunned by my question. A trace of panic crosses their eyes simultaneously. But Bradley just wraps an arm around my shoulders with a smile. "Don't listen to their nonsense, Emily. Who else is worthy as my

As the designer, I had to stay beside them to explain my idea. The exhibition ended an hour later. Just as I was leaving, Sophia spoke. "Andy, could I please have some coffee with your employee?" Andy cast me a meaningful look. "Of course." In the cafe right across from my workplace, Sophia went straight to the point. Her tone dripped with sarcasm. "I heard you stepped on silver powder yesterday. How foolish. You'll only bring Ethan trouble." I subconsciously held onto a corner of my shirt. "Thanks for the concern. I'm fine now."

he laughs “it’s utterly childish, I wouldn’t want your opinion of me damaged by explaining the joke” “Oh well, now you have to say! Me and my friends have a rule that we can’t say that we have a story and then say at the same time that we can’t impart the story, it’s just cruel!” He seems to struggle, as if he was deciding whether I was someone who would take offence when told a dirty joke or a blonde joke. I don’t. I was raised by farmers, I’ve heard far worse. “Ok, well, it’s not particularly funny…”he pauses. “ I’ll tell you what, I’ll tell you our private joke after we’ve ordered the food.”

] One crude joke after another flooded the chat. Then one of Yvonne's friends suddenly freaked out. [You idiots are drunk! Wrong group! Jared's in here too! Delete those messages!] The chat instantly turned into chaos, but most of the messages were already stuck there. Someone thought it was funny and replied: [So what if he sees them? You think he'd actually say anything?] I didn't react. I got up and made myself something to eat. Right after my last bite, the front door swung open.

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?”