Humour Short Stories

Hygge is the Danish way of life. The Danes say that it's hard to translate the concept properly into other languages but I watched a four minute Youtube video and read a short article so I'm pretty sure I've got it. Basically, it means…

In late 2004 I started using a small dictaphone to record my stand-up routine. To monitor where laughs were coming in my material. Ok, not laughs. Strained muffled pitiful groans. One evening I performed a spot at The Comedy Hovel.…

Part 1 | Part 2 She stormed into the room and continued shooting. I peered around the corner and saw three bodies lying on the floor. One person was hiding behind a huge desk holding their gun over the desk and firing wildly. I heard…

Read Part 1 Here I picked up my stuff as the helicopter flew off, keeping low to the ground to avoid birds or radar or something. I walked over to Lilya as she stood up and pointed towards the town in the distance. It looked like any other…

An approximate translation of an extract from Judas Iscariot’s recently unearthed journal. Am approached by a Roman centurion in a crowded bazaar. He asks me would I be willing to betray Jesus. It would be worth my while. He winks. I…

I awoke with a gentle-ish flailing of my limbs. I always find it best to start off in the waking world with some spastic limb flailing to get the body pumped up for all the rad stuff I put it through. Though this has led to several…

It is 1996. I am a young Irish stand-up comedian. The stage is not my home. It is more like a youth hostel in Wiesbaden. I never storm during my act - just lightly rain shower. I have started referring to laughs as Godot. Most evenings when…

A man is on life support this evening at the Mater Hospital in Dublin, where, despite the complete loss of brain stem function, doctors have detected viable sperm in his left testicle and, as the potential for human life is still present,…

In the archaeological discovery of the year, Joseph the Carpenter’s diaries have recently been unearthed. Here we examine his account of that very first Christmas and find a written testimony that at times gives us a surprising insight into…

“My poor boy, taken away so young…” came Mordecai’s sobs as we exited the Church, passing by a dozen wreaths bearing the name “Rollison” and making our way to the car. The tears weren’t unexpected, salty as they were, as the Priest had…