Delivery Style: narrative

Narrative joke delivery styles, punchline pacing, and comedy formats for people with specific chaos preferences from Chaotic Meh — organized so the algorithm can pretend this place has adult supervision.

  • Over Here on the Swing

    A man and his wife are awakened at three o’clock in the morning by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger, standing in the pouring rain, is asking for a push.

    “Not a chance,” says the husband. “It is three o’clock in the morning!” He slams the door and returns to bed.

    “Who was that?” asked his wife.

    “Just some drunk guy asking for a push,” he answers.

    “Did you help him?” she asks.

    “No, I did not. It is three in the morning and it is pouring out!” says the husband.

    “Well, you have a short memory,” says his wife. “Can’t you remember about three months ago when we broke down and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself!”

    The man agrees, gets dressed, and goes out into the pounding rain. He calls out into the dark, “Hello, are you still there?”

    “Yes,” comes back the answer.

    “Do you still need a push?” calls out the husband.

    “Yes, please!” comes the reply from the dark.

    “Where are you?” asks the husband.

    “Over here on the swing!” replied the drunk.

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • Need a Drink?

    A couple of drinkin’ buddies who are airplane mechanics are out at SFO and it’s fogged in and they have nothing to do. And one of them says to the other, “Man, have you got anything to drink?”

    “Nah, but I hear you can drink jet fuel — that’ll kinda give you a buzz.”

    So they do, and they get smashed and have a beautiful time, like only drinkin’ buddies can do. The following morning, one of them wakes up and just knows his head is going to explode when he gets up. He knows it. It doesn’t. He gets up, it feels good — in fact he feels great. NO hangover!

    The phone rings. It’s his buddy.

    The buddy says, “Hey, how do you feel?”

    And he says, “I feel great!”

    And the buddy says, “I feel great too! You don’t have a hangover?”

    And he says, “No — that jet fuel is great stuff — no hangover — we ought to do this more often.”

    And he goes, “Yeah, we could. There’s just one thing…”

    He says, “What’s that?”

    And he says, “Did you fart yet?”

    “What??”

    “Did you fart yet??”

    “No…”

    And the buddy says, “Well, don’t, ’cause I’m in Phoenix!”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • It’s Friday

    Late one Friday night the policeman spotted a man driving very erratically through the streets of Dublin. They pulled the man over and asked him if he had been drinking that evening.

    “Aye, so I have. ’Tis Friday, you know, so me and the lads stopped by the pub where I had six or seven pints. And then there was something called ‘Happy Hour’ and they served these mar-gar-itos which are quite good. I had four or five o’ those. Then I had to drive me friend Mike home and o’ course I had to go in for a couple of Guinness — couldn’t be rude, ye know. Then I stopped on the way home to get another bottle for later…”

    And the man fumbled around in his coat until he located his bottle of whiskey, which he held up for inspection.

    The officer sighed and said, “Sir, I’m afraid I’ll need you to step out of the car and take a breathalyzer test.”

    Indignantly, the man said, “Why? Don’t ye believe me?!?”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • Pastor Fuzz

    The Reverend John Fuzz was pastor of a small congregation in a little Pennsylvania town. One day he was walking down Main Street and he happened to notice a female member of his congregation sitting in the town bar, drinking beer.

    Clean Mode hides the spicy parts.
    Unleash Chaos

    The reverend thought this was sinful and not something a member of his congregation should do, so he walked through the open door of the bar and sat down next to the woman. “Mrs. Fitzgerald,” the reverend said sternly. “This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don’t you let me take you home?”

    “Shure,” she said with a slur, obviously very drunk.

    When Mrs. Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she had had too much to drink and he grabbed hold of her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. After rolling around for a few seconds, the reverend wound up lying on top of Mrs. Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist.

    The bartender looked over the bar and said, “Here, here, buddy, we won’t have any of that carrying on in this bar.”

    The reverend looked up at the bartender and said, “But you don’t understand, I’m Pastor Fuzz.”

    The bartender nodded. “Well, if you’re that far you may as well finish.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • Port Makes Me Fart

    A wealthy playboy met a beautiful young girl in an exclusive lounge. He took her to his lavish apartment where he soon discovered she was not a tramp, but was well-groomed and apparently very intelligent. Hoping to get her into bed, he began showing her his collection of expensive paintings, first editions by famous authors and offered her a glass of wine.

    He asked whether she preferred Port or Sherry and she said, “Oh, Sherry by all means. To me it’s the nectar of the gods. Just looking at it in a crystal-clear decanter fills me with a glorious sense of anticipation. When the stopper is removed and the gorgeous liquid is poured into my glass, I inhale the enchanting aroma and I’m lifted on the wings of ecstasy. It seems as though I’m about to drink a magic potion and my whole being begins to glow. The sound of a thousand violins being softly played fills my ears and I’m transported into another world.

    “On the other hand, Port makes me fart.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • You Left Without Your Wheelchair Again

    David is in a bar and he has had quite a few already. At two o’clock, last round is called, and although he knows he shouldn’t, he drinks another beer, simply because they taste just too good.

    After the final beer, he slides from his stool and immediately drops on the floor. This was not what he had expected. He knew he had some, but… He tries to get up but again he falls. After several more attempts, he gives up and decides to crawl home.

    At the door of his house he realizes it is better not to stand up, since he will almost certainly fall over again and wake up his wife. So he crawls quietly inside to his bed and slips under the covers without awakening his wife.

    The next morning his wife asks him furiously, “Were you drunk again last night?”

    David is surprised and asks her how she knew.

    “They just called from the bar. You left without your wheelchair again.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • Breakfast

    The angry wife met her husband at the door. There was alcohol on his breath and lipstick on his collar.

    “I assume,” she snarled, “that there is a very good reason for you to come waltzing in here at six o’clock in the morning.”

    “There is,” he replied. “Breakfast.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • You’re Sitting on the Mop Bucket

    A drunk gets up from the bar and heads for the restroom. A few minutes later, a loud, blood-curdling scream is heard. A few minutes after that, another loud scream reverberates through the bar. The bartender goes to investigate why the drunk is screaming.

    “What’s all the screaming about in there? You’re scaring my customers!”

    “I’m just sitting here on the toilet and every time I try to flush, something comes up and squeezes the hell out of my balls.”

    With that, the bartender opens the door, looks in and says, “You idiot! You’re sitting on the mop bucket!”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • Band-Aids on the Mirror

    A fellow decides to take off early from work and go drinking. He stays until the bar closes at 2 a.m., at which time he is extremely drunk. When he enters his house, he doesn’t want to wake anyone, so he takes off his shoes and starts tiptoeing up the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, he falls over backwards and lands flat on his rear end.

    That wouldn’t have been so bad, except that he had a couple of empty pint bottles in his back pockets, and they broke, and the broken glass carved up his buttocks terribly. But he was so drunk that he didn’t know he was hurt. A few minutes later, as he was undressing, he noticed blood, so he checked himself out in the mirror, and sure enough, his behind was cut up something terrible.

    Well, he repaired the damage as best he could under the circumstances, and he went to bed. The next morning, his head was hurting, and his rear was hurting, and he was hunkering under the covers trying to think up some good story, when his wife came into the bedroom. “Well, you really tied one on last night,” she said. “Where’d you go?”

    “I worked late,” he said, “and I stopped off for a couple of beers.”

    “A couple of beers? That’s a laugh,” she replied. “You got plastered last night. Where the heck did you go?”

    “What makes you so sure I got drunk last night, anyway?”

    “Well,” she replied, “my first big clue was when I got up this morning and found a bunch of Band-Aids stuck to the mirror.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail

  • ’Cause You’re Ugly

    A woman was shopping at her local supermarket where she selected a quart of 2% milk, a carton of eggs, a quart of orange juice, a head of romaine lettuce, a two-pound can of coffee, and a one-pound package of bacon.

    Clean Mode hides the spicy parts.
    Unleash Chaos

    As she was unloading her items on the conveyor belt to check out, a drunk standing behind her watched as she placed the items in front of the cashier.

    He said, “You must be single.”

    The woman, a bit startled but intrigued by the derelict’s intuition, looked at her six items on the belt.

    Seeing nothing particularly unusual about her selections, she said, “Well, you know what, you’re absolutely correct. But how on earth did you know that?”

    The drunk replied, “’Cause you’re ugly.”

    Share:TwitterFacebookLinkedinRedditWhatsappEmail