Intellectual Jokes Novels & Stories

Looking at Silvia's silly look, Jayden suddenly smiled and said, "Silvia, it's really a miracle that you manage to live for 20 good years with such poor cognitive abilities." Silvia was infuriated. She glared at him and snapped, "Jayden, how dare you accuse me of being an idiot?" Jayden asked, "You don't agree?" "I have a high IQ of 120!" Silvia answered confidently. Jayden then responded sarcastically, "I think your IQ must be off the charts.." Silvia retorted, "You are the idiot! Not me!" Jayden put on a little smirk as he said, "Mrs. Kyle, please get a glass of warm water for me."

“That was... something.” He didn’t even flinch. “Tough crowd,” he muttered under his breath. Tough crowd? Was this a boardroom or open mic night? --- Then came the coffee break. I’d barely made it to the break room when he cornered me with another one of his “brilliant” jokes. “What do you call a sad cup of coffee?” he asked, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. Against my better judgment, I played along. “What?” “A depresso.”

She may have a bit of stubborn and brat bones in her body. "You could have made it last time too if Lilith didn't made a total worthless joke about breathing in hell which had Grace laughing like a fool ." Emily scoffs remembering their stupidity that night. "It was funny though" Grace defends herself,It's not her fault that she finds stupid nerd jokes funny.

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?”

Regardless, I couldn’t give anyone the impression that I had high intelligence. Hoax Files: Genius IQ over 140, in the 99th percentile. An exceptional intellect, ability to make connections others can’t. Exploited: knowledge and inventions used to harm or enslave others, genius minds used in experiments ending in fatalities, insanity (American MK-Ultra, Russian Gulag, German Nazi camps). Don’t let them know you’re smart.

The front doors swooshed open and were slammed shut, followed by loud thuds which were supposed to be footsteps, coming closer towards the dining room. "There's the missing child." Smartass began and spoke like a, well, smart ass. How is my intuition always right? What am I saying? I'm smart as fuck. That's why. Stop lying to yourself babes. You like to think you're smart. You're street smart. But you're a complete dumbass. Don't get it twisted. I hate my mind.

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.”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” “What about ‘persistent’?” He counters. I roll my eyes. “That’s one way to put it.” “Or, maybe ‘physically strong’?” “Absolutely not.” “Smart?” “Good one.” “Right right. Insanely intelligent. That’s better.” “You forgot ‘humble’,” I retort sarcastically. “Ok. How about clever?” “That’s pushing it.” “Frustrating?” “Yes!” I give him a mocking clap. “You finally got one right.”

I asked, getting irritated by their insipid jokes. “What slave girl are you talking about? The one who appears to be the group leader said. “Have you been smoking weed” another asked. “You look like you need help” the skinny one added. “Stop it!” I screamed at the four of them, I was getting frustrated with their stupid pranks. Are they trying to drive me nuts, what was with all the clownish attitude?

Life’s so unfair, man. “What does a spoon matter when we’re literally stuck in the middle of the woods with invisible monsters, shady, bad men and whatever else creeps around here? Can you please, for once, use your brain and kick some sense in the gear?” He whisper-hisses, so red in the face, he reminds me of a tomato. “You could join a casting for vegetable commercials looking like this,” I remark and laugh at the brilliant joke my brain just reacted. Shit, am I not the funniest guy out there? Look at me - sense of humor, looks, body and an impressive spoon collection, I have it all, damn it. No wonder my little vixen couldn’t deny me.