Sardonic Humor Novels & Stories

“You just attacked his men. That’s not exactly what allies do to each other.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Isn’t it? I had no idea!” I roll my eyes. “You know, they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit…” He grins wider. “Oh, but that quote is incomplete. Oscar Wilde actually said ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence.’” I scowl. “It doesn’t change the fact that it’s not nice. It’s self-serving.” “How so?” I take a deep breath, eager to talk and distract him so he won’t decide something uncool. Like hurt me, for one. I need to stay alive until Kaan finds me. “It aims to belittle the other person and make the one who uses it feel superior.”

He laughed loudly, “I see giant hearts in your eyes at the sight of these little sausages and it’s too hilarious! That look you made when you saw the plate headed straight for you…priceless!” It took him a moment to temper his laughing and I just giggled and shoved his shoulder, “Hey! I have a weakness for tiny sausages covered in barbeque sauce okay? It’s terribly crippling and I don’t appreciate your lack of appreciation.” I loved how quickly he quipped back to my overly sarcastic retort, “Oh, I definitely don’t lack appreciation! If anything, I was just appreciating your weakness for them through the obvious goofy ass giddy facial expression you dropped on a dime the second you saw them!”

She huffed in annoyance, "You're no fun. Anyway, you know who's coming back to town?" "Yeah, I know. That's why I'm asking, isn't it?" Her gaze narrowed at me. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, my dear Camiela." "That's not the full quote, my dear Shirley," I mocked. "Then what is?" My gaze fell to the floor as my elbow hit my purse, causing it to tumble onto the ground and send all my belongings pouring out. I groaned in annoyance and stood kneeling down to pick it up. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit—"

She did have a thing for dealing with every situation with sarcasm. His eyebrow went up unable to read the sarcasm in her voice. He wondered why that would be a reason for her to shed tears. "Why would that make you cry? It's not your fault, it's just the way pigs were made" he said with seriousness as if he was teaching a kindergarten. Jessica couldn't believe that he thought that was why she was crying. His childishness and naivety made her wonder. How could a grown man who headed a company does not even know when she was being sarcastic?

I looked down. One silent tear slid down my cheek. He was still fuming. Still shaking. But I could feel it—beneath every expletive, every rage-filled line. He was terrified. Because he gave a damn. He gave every f**king damn in the world. Nick wasn’t wrong. He never really was. He was just joking—just being his usual dumbass self, trying to break tension the only way he knew how: with sarcasm and poorly timed humor. And somehow... it landed like a f**king dagger right through the darkest part of me.

“What does that even mean?” “It means your sarcasm isn’t just a shield. It’s a weapon. A pinprick of chaos. Irritating, unpredictable, alive. We need to weaponize it. All of it. Silas’s broken songs, Maia’s wild pulse, Lyra’s reclaimed pain, your irritating commentary. We turn this cottage into a fortress of glorious, unbearable specificity.” A slow grin spread across my face. It felt like the first real one in days. “So you’re saying… my job is to be as annoyingly, persistently me as possible?”

The dark humor was so perfectly Jaxx that I couldn't help but laugh. I burst out laughing, the sound bright against the lingering tension in the room. The absurdity of his grim humor never failed to catch me off guard, to remind me that beneath the violence and the control, there was a man who made me laugh in the darkest moments. Jaxx just shrugged, completely unbothered by his own dark wit, though a small smile played at his lips, softening the hard lines of his face.

I shouted sarcastically. I could see him stifling a laugh which only made me angrier. "Sarcasm doesn't look good on you." He commented as he casually poured himself a glass of wine. "Well wine doesn't look good on you either." "What?" Before he could say another word I tipped his drink onto his trousers and made a run for it.

Harold smirked and said in a sarcastic tone, “Charlie, go ahead with your drama. I bet your so-called acquaintances are just some low-life gangsters and nobodies. Do you really think you’re so influential and powerful? I don’t believe you’re able to invite any prominent figures!” Wendy chimed in the sarcastic bandwagon. “A loser like Charlie is best at bragging. If no one attends your opening ceremony, you and this office will become Aurous Hill’s laughing stocks. Let’s see how you’ll get jobs or projects then!”

“Damon.” He raised his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright. But seriously, boss — she’s good for you. I’ve known you for years, and I’ve never seen you look… lighter.” I frowned. “Lighter?” “Yeah. You used to move through life like you were constantly calculating your next step. Now, you pause. You text. You even have a sense of humor sometimes.” I turned back to the desk. “I’ve always had a sense of humor.” “You didn’t,” he said easily. “You had… sarcasm. Not the same thing.”