Quick Jokes Novels & Stories

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.

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Your room stinks by the way, and you had the nerve to ask Bobbie to stay in here.” Jake groaned and laughed. “Still stupid, Jacky.” “Oh, no, Jake. Jacky took over Dwayne Johnsons’ routine,” I butted in and Jake snickered. “I bet he did... he’s all body but no brains.” Jake mocked, which made Jack laugh loudly. They exchanged more indecent jokes to each other before Jack left the room. My cheeks were hurting from all the laughing from these two. I connected my phone to a Bluetooth headset while finishing my cup of hot Choco.

"I have a sense of humor, thank you very much. I just don't find your fart jokes funny." Felecia snickered. "Everyone likes a fart joke, Moana." Harper waved his fork at Kelsey. "I don't care who you are. Fart jokes are classic." "Stop calling me Moana." Kelsey rolled her eyes. "They're disgusting." "You're disgusting." "Your mom's disgusting." Jamie's brows shot up and he covered his mouth with a fist. "Oh." "Now who is being immature?" Harper's grin only widened. "Your mom jokes are classic. Everyone knows that." Kelsey waved her hand.

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?

I answered him back making him regret his joke. He knotted his brows as I uttered and shook his head. "You can never take my jokes, Can you? You are a boring man. Everyone in my agency loves my joke and burst into laughter, especially girls. But you my friend don't even try to smile at them." He started with his complaint first before he disclose the matter he was mentioning before. "So what? It's my choice whether I want to laugh or not. Plus your jokes are not funny. Girls laugh at your jokes cause your money makes them laugh. Otherwise, you would have been the king of bad jokes." I said, resting my ass on the maroon couch.

Okay, this shit got to stop, maybe I should try a joke or something? “Hello triple Ds” I say chuckling awkwardly and they just stand there not knowing what to say. “you know, because the names of the three of you starts with a D” I explain my bad joke. “Yah we got it” Dylan says with a fake chuckle, okay, maybe that joke can still be saved. “I’m a double D myself” I say laughing liking my own joke and all their eyes instantly go to my breasts. I choke in my laughter when Derek lets out an angry growl and I sink further inside my hoodie while Dylan starts counting the specks of dust on the floor and Dean find the light fixtures very interesting all of a sudden.

“Little things make me happy.” “I guess that’s what happens when you’ve experienced jail.” I attempt a joke in a lighter tone and I immediately feel chastened. I hold my breath for her reaction as she studies my expression carefully, but then she surprises us both by laughing. My mother has never laughed at my jokes before. Ever.

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?”

I quipped, trying to lighten the grave atmosphere. My jibe landed like a balloon in a room full of porcupines. The rigid faces, the pin-drop silence, each one a stark reminder of the severity of this meeting. The laughter that bubbled in my chest faltered, the aftertaste of the joke bitter in my mouth. My smile faded, replaced by a quick, apologetic grimace. "Go on, please," I urged, my voice barely louder than a whisper. Noting the hard lines of Mr. Abrams' face, I silently made a mental note to avoid any more tasteless jokes.

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