Format: narrative

Narrative comedy formats, jokes, memes, and punchlines organized for easier doom-scrolling from Chaotic Meh — organized so the algorithm can pretend this place has adult supervision.

  • 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.”

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  • ’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.

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    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.”

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  • Are You Sure This Is Where He Fell In

    A drunk stumbles into a baptismal service on Sunday afternoon down by the river. He walks down into the water and stands next to the preacher.

    The minister turns and notices the old drunk and says, “Mister, are you ready to find Jesus?”

    The drunk replies, “Yesh, Your Honor, I shur am!”

    The minister dunks the fellow under the water and pulls him right back up. “Have you found Jesus?” he asked.

    “Nooo, Your Highness, I shur dint!” says the drunk. The preacher then dunks him under for a bit longer, brings him up and says, “Now, brother, have you found Jesus?”

    “Noooo, Your Majesty, I shur dint!” the drunk slurs again.

    Disgusted, the preacher holds the man under for at least thirty seconds this time, brings him out of the water and says in a harsh tone, “My good man, have you found Jesus YET?”

    The drunk wipes his eyes and says to the preacher, “Are you sure this is where he fell in?”

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  • So How Many Does It Take

    Joe is having a drink in his local bar when in walks this gorgeous woman. Joe, not being too shy, goes up and sits next to her. He buys her a drink and then another and then another. After this and the accompanying small talk, Joe asks her back to his place for a “good time.”

    “Look,” says the woman, “what do you think I am? I don’t turn into a slut after three drinks, you know!”

    “OK,” replies Joe, “so how many does it take?”

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  • This Is a Singles Bar

    A man walks into a bar and says, “Excuse me, I’d like a pint of beer.”

    The bartender serves the drink and says, “That’ll be four dollars.”

    The customer pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to the bartender.

    “Sorry, sir,” the bartender says, “but I can’t accept that.”

    The man pulls out a ten-dollar bill and the bartender rejects his money again. “What’s going on here?” the man asks.

    Pointing to a neon sign, the bartender explains, “This is a Singles Bar.”

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  • Maybe Later

    An eight-year-old kid swaggered into the lounge of the hotel and demanded of the barmaid, “Give me a double Scotch on the rocks.”

    “What do you want to do, get me in trouble?” the barmaid asked.

    “Maybe later,” the kid said. “Right now, I just want the Scotch.”

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  • We’re on the Patch

    Two drunks are driving down the highway, drinking their beer. All of a sudden the driver notices lights flashing in his mirror — the cops are on his tail. His buddy says, “What are we going to do?”

    The driver says, “Don’t worry. Just do exactly what I tell you and everything will work out perfectly. First, peel the labels off our beer bottles and we’ll each stick one on our forehead. Then shove the bottles underneath the seat, and let me do the talking.”

    They pull over and the cop walks up to the car. He looks at them kind of funny, but asks to see the guy’s driver’s license. And he asks him, “Have you been drinking?”

    “Oh, no, sir,” the driver replies.

    “I noticed you weaving back and forth across the highway. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?” the cop asks.

    “Oh, no, sir,” the drunk answers. “We haven’t had a thing to drink tonight.”

    “Well, I’ve got to ask you,” says the cop, “what on earth are those things on your forehead?”

    “That’s easy, Officer,” says the drunk. “You see, we’re both alcoholics, and we’re on the Patch!”

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  • Your Tit Is Hanging in the Ashtray

    A very inebriated lady walked into a bar shortly before closing time, sat at the bar and ordered, “Barbender, barbender, I would like a Martoutsy.”

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    The bartender brought her a Martini, which she drank in one gulp.

    “Barbender, I would like another Martoutsy.” Again, the bartender brought her a Martini.

    By this time the lady was leaning heavily forward, barely able to hang on. She called, “Barbender, your Martoutsys are giving me heartburn.”

    Patiently, the bartender came near her and said, “Lady, I am not a barbender, but a bartender, and what you have been drinking is not a Martoutsy, but a Martini, and finally, you do not have heartburn — your tit is hanging in the ashtray.”

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  • Help Getting Out of the Mud

    Two guys left the bar after a long night of drinking, jumped in the car, and started it up.

    After a couple of minutes, an old man appeared in the passenger window and tapped lightly.

    The passenger screamed, “Look at the window! There’s an old ghost’s face there!”

    The driver sped up, but the old man’s face stayed in the window.

    The passenger rolled his window down partway and, scared out of his wits, said, “What do you want?”

    The old man softly replied, “You got any tobacco?”

    The passenger handed the old man a cigarette and yelled, “Step on it!” to the driver, rolling up the window in terror.

    A few minutes later they calmed down and started laughing again. The driver said, “I don’t know what happened, but don’t worry — the speedometer says we’re doing eighty now.”

    All of a sudden there was a light tapping on the window and the old man reappeared.

    “There he is again!” the passenger yelled. He rolled down the window and shakily said, “Yes?”

    “Do you have a light?” the old man quietly asked.

    The passenger threw a lighter out the window, saying, “Step on it!”

    They were driving about a hundred miles an hour, trying to forget what they had just seen and heard, when all of a sudden there came some more tapping.

    “Oh my God! He’s back!” The passenger rolled down the window and screamed in stark terror, “WHAT NOW?”

    The old man gently replied, “You want some help getting out of the mud?”

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  • Dear Alcohol

    Dear Alcohol,

    I thought I’d take a minute to discuss some troubling factors with you.

    First and foremost, let me tell you that I’m a huge fan of yours… your many sides and dimensions are mind-boggling (different than beer goggling, which I’ll touch upon shortly.)

    Yes, my friend, you always seem to be there when needed — the perfect post-work cocktail, a beer with the gang… and you’re even around in the holidays — hidden inside chocolates, you warm us when we’re stuck in the midst of endless family gatherings.

    Yet lately, I’ve been wondering about your intentions. You see, I want to believe that you have my best interests at heart, but I feel that your influence has led to unwise consequences, briefed below for your review:

    1. Phone calls: While I agree with you that communication is important, I question the suggestion that any conversation of substance or necessity occurs at 5 a.m.

    2. Eating: Now, you know I love a good meal and, though cooking is far from my speciality, why you suggested that I eat a kebab with chilli sauce coupled with a pot noodle and some stale crisps (washed down with chocolate Nesquik and topped off with a Kit Kat) is beyond me. Eclectic eater I am, but I think you went a bit too far this time.

    3. Clumsiness: Unless you’re subtly trying to tell me I need to do yoga more to increase my balance, I see no need to hammer the issue home by causing me to fall down the stairs. Completely unnecessary. Similarly, it should not take me more than thirty seconds to get the key into the front door lock.

    4. Pictures: This is a blessing in disguise, as it can often clarify the last point below, but the following costumes are heretofore banned from being placed on my head in public: Indian wigs, sombreros, bows, ties, boxes, upside-down cups, inflatable balloon animals, traffic cones, bras.

    5. Beer goggles: If I think I may know him/her from somewhere, I most likely do not. Please do not request that I go over and see if, in fact, I do actually know that person. This is similar to the old “Hey, you’re in my class” syndrome circa 1986 at SU, and should heretofore be rendered illegal. Coupled with this is the phrase “Let’s shag.” While I may be thinking this, please reinstate the brain-to-mouth block that would keep this thought from being a statement, especially in public.

    Further, the subsequent hangovers have got to stop. Now, I know a little penance for our previous evenings’ debauchery may be in order, but the 2 p.m. Hangover Immobility is completely unacceptable. I ask that if the proper steps are proactively taken on my part (i.e. water, vitamin B, bread products, aspirin) prior to going to bed/passing out facedown on the kitchen floor with a bag of popcorn, the hangover should be quite minimal and in no way interfere with my daily Saturday or Sunday (or any day, for that matter) activities. Come on now… it’s only fair — you do your part, I’ll do mine.

    Alcohol, I have enjoyed our relationship for some years now, and want to ensure that we remain on good terms. You’ve been the invoker of great stories, the provocation for much laughter, and the needed companion when we just don’t know what to do with the extra money in our pockets. In order to continue this relationship, I ask that you carefully review my grievances above and address them immediately. I will look for an answer no later than Friday at 6 p.m. (pre happy hour) on your possible solutions, and hopefully we can continue this fruitful partnership.

    Thank you for your prompt attention to these matters.

    Sincerely, your biggest fan.

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