Sentence Humor Novels & Stories

"Rude! I’m a model citizen. I only commit crimes against humor. Not that I’d ever need to rob a bank!" "Crimes against humor," I chuckled. "That’s one way to put it. Your dad jokes are a whole different category." "Hey!" he said, pretending to be offended. "My dad jokes are basically an art form." He pointed at me like a teacher about to drop knowledge. "Why did the scarecrow get promoted?" I shot him a wary look. "Frank—" "Because he was outstanding in his field," he declared, laughter bubbling up as he reveled in his own joke.

I pondered for a moment, then typed, "The one where we're laughing at that silly joke you made. Your smile is my favorite." Her reply was swift, "I remember that! You have the best laugh." I chuckled at her words, "Well, you have the best jokes. It's a perfect match." The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of words that mirrored the rhythm of our connection. As we continued chatting, the miles between us seemed to vanish. She shared anecdotes from her day, and I found solace in the sound of her virtual laughter. I couldn't help but tease her, "You know, our photos don't do justice to your laughter. I miss hearing it in person."

Which is about the only thing we agree on. If Chris notices this dynamic, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he joins in as the leap from topic to topic which includes the latest page three model, women in gyms, dating and top gear. For almost two hours I persevere, struggling to detect a single witty remark among this poor excuse for schoolboy humour. Yet the last thing I want is to be dismissed as having no sense of humour. I redundantly stand with a smile on my face. You’d think this would be easy, but it’s not. Unlike Chris, who has tears rolling down his face, I find his friends about as hilarious as having a root canal done without any pain relief. “Jesus, they’re so funny,” laughs Chris. He

One could never expect from him to be serious. "I am a straight man too." I asserted towards him, raising my voice with a poker face. "Who knows?" He voiced out which irritated me more. Oh Jesus Chirst, save him before I successfully murder him and his lame humor. "Can you just kill me?" I asked, frustratingly. "You should not be worrying, you know you will die anyway." He answered back. "What the fuck? I just can not make sense of, how the fuck you and your thick brain could think of such a lame humor." I asserted back to him.

' I say mentally. However, what I say, although it calms him down, doesn't make him feel embarrassed or angry, but rather, he laughs. And he doesn't laugh coldly, but, a genuine laugh, the kind you can't fake. Showing me that he does feel. That he can be happy. "I've never heard a joke as good as this one, wife. You should be a humorist," Helmut says wiping away a tear that escaped his eyes from laughing so hard. "What joke are you talking about?"

I muttered, “if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t poison you. I’d shoot you instead.” Their mouths dropped open, and I realized too late that I shouldn’t be joking about something like that. A nervous laugh fell from my lips. “I—I was only joking. You’d be able to smell poison from a mile away, and I know you’ll get the gun away from me within seconds.” Devrim was the first to break the silence. “You humans have a sick sense of humour. I don’t really see what’s so funny in what you said.” “I’m sorry.”

“ Hey! It's okay! He's not mad at you.” Hannah cheered her up and Danielle nodded and smiled. “ Come on! Let's have our lunch!” Hannah encircled her hand over Danielle's arms. “ Okay. Where do you like to eat?” “ I'm going to eat on a plate, of course!” Hannah made a joke on her. Danielle laughed at how silly her friend is. “ That was funny. Silly you! Your joke is already old.” “ At least, It made us both laugh. I know a place

I taunted, waggling my eyebrows. His eye twitched. Too easy. "It's a joke," I added before he could react towards her. No need to cause her any problems. "Oh, ha! You almost got me there! Who knew you just had a drier humor? No wonder people avoid you," the guy laughed, nudging his girl, who nervously played along. I smiled. "It's understandable. With your sense of humor, it must be hard to find the punchline." "What do you mean?" he asked, completely missing the insult.

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.”

I eased only by degrees. Selene, to her credit, did not flinch from the fact I had nearly come through her. “The two I’ve been hunting all morning,” she said, looking around the room with a dryness that sat over strain rather than wit, “and a bar. It’s almost enough to make me believe the week might improve.” The joke was bad and tired and not really a joke at all. It sounded like someone trying to prove she still remembered how human speech worked after too many hours of grief and suspicion.