Skeleton Jokes Novels & Stories

I am not fat or thin, just normal size, distinguished from the newbies that just arrived this morning. They are fat, well-built, and scoundrel. But, that doesn't concern me. "Who will place a bet on a malodorous skeleton boy?" Mr Clarkson yelled, followed by the mocking voice of the stupid audience. I yelled back, making sure that I let my voice go louder and higher enough for them to hear. "Your people are the skeleton." When I heard the crowds gasping in shock, it was obvious they didn't expect such abusive words from me. But who cares?

“Thank you!” ‘Did we miss something?’ Odeus asked, comprehending the situation. ‘Yeah, a lot of fun,’ I said. ‘And one of her wins. Even though it’s small, I still count it as a win.’ I was having an ick from my icks now. “Choose the skeleton you want, lady,” Skully said, walking behind the counter made of stacked up bones. Xanthea looked around fearlessly. A few of the skeletons cracked some lame bone jokes that had her laughing and giggling like a child. She looked a lot more comfortable around those skeletons than she was around us.

"An impasta!" Lucy groaned, but the sound turned into real laughter. "Jonathan, these are so bad they’re good." "Wait, wait… one more. Why don’t skeletons fight each other?" "I don’t know…" "Because they don’t have the guts!" She laughed again, softer this time, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. "You’re the worst. Please never stop." They stayed like that for hours. Jonathan helped her highlight notes when her mind wandered, and told silly stories from his childhood to keep the darkness away.

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.

SCARLETT'S POV. I was completely right. The party was boring as hell, and from the looks of things we weren't even near done here. And then even worse, the annoying as fuck MC who thoughts his jokes were so funny but they were obviously not, had been wasting so much time on the third segment of the programme which was jokes and riddles, that I almost threw my shoe at him. If I heard one more uncle joke coming from his mouth, I could just do it right there, damning all the consequences.

"Why is it still coming?" That was three scoops of laxatives; it wasn't something that passed that easily! I gave him a look of pity. "Just keep going. Once you get the drink out of your system, you'll be fine—" "Honey, I'm not expelling the drink anymore. I'm expelling blood…" Zane sat on the toilet bowl, shivering and grunting in pain.

Then someone in the crowd sneered, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, that must be Sophia's sugar daddy. Showed up to defend her. She's not picky, is she. She'll take a guy in his fifties." The crowd erupted. Some covered their mouths, laughing. Others joined in openly. "Yeah, I heard she doesn't care about age. Maybe this old man's a regular too." The dean's expression tightened. He turned sharply toward the crowd. "All of you–shut your mouths!" He glanced at my injuries, his voice urgent.

But their laughter grew louder, mocking me. "Look at the clown! Hurry up and swim to the edge!" Right then, I heard Yolana's voice from the side. "What are you all doing here?" "Yolana, your waitress was slacking off, so we thought we'd teach her a lesson."

It might help if I get lost…or accidentally set the apartment on fire,” I teased, getting a hint of a smile that he buried by denying. "Or you'll probably starve the poor animal to death," he returned the joke, narrowing his gaze, making the lines of expression visible at the corners of his eyes. Since the incident in my bathroom we acquired the ability to joke when it came to Alzheimer's. Black jokes made the situation less overwhelming. He was the first person he could joke with like this. My friends didn't like it when he said things like that and found it cruel; what they didn't understand was that at the end of the day the one who would live in limbo would be me, and taking it so seriou

“I don’t.” “You make jokes about them all the time.” “What jokes?” “Come on. They run after mail carriers, are obsessed with squirrels. There was that night we met that wet dog that stank so bad—” “It was a joke. I had never even smelled a Were at the time!”