Browse our comedy ebooks....

Everyday life can get pretty serious, with a whole host of day-to-day tasks and responsibilities weighing on your shoulders. But don’t stress - laughter is the best medicine. And when it comes to finding something to laugh at, these comedy short stories are just what you need.

Comedy ebooks are the perfect antidote to everyday life, giving you the opportunity to escape into a word of laughter and giggle to your heart’s content. Whether you’re a fan of a good farce story or prefer to crack up at a wickedly funny black comedy, these comedy short stories are just what you need.

Start reading and start spreading the laughter contained within these hilariously funny comedy ebooks. Just be careful if you read them in public - you may not be able to hold in your howls.

If you have a specific type of comedy ebook you’re looking for then you can find it by choosing one of the comedy sub-genres below:

Black comedy

Farce

General comedy stories

 

Hugh McPearson and the Confounding Riddles
In his sixth bizarre adventure Hugh (and his brother who is also called Hugh) face their nemesis. This mysterious master villain has already stolen all the gold from The Bank of England and all the paintings from Buckingham Palace and now Hugh (and Hugh) have to prevent the villain from... well, they don't know what to prevent unless they can crack the villain's mysterious coded riddles. According to Hugh (Hugh's brother) a total twit is needed. Confused... read on... "I was sitting at my desk ready for work, appreciating the fact that my desk was sitting at me, also ready for work. I hoped it had enjoyed its evening off the night before, like I had. However, for the desk that meant enjoying being in the same place as it was all day while we were sitting at each other ready for work (or actually working) but without us both sitting at each other being ready for work (or actually working.) The phone began ringing so I presumed that the desk and I would soon be working rather than being ready for work (or enjoying time off not sitting at each other.) I answered the phone. “Hugh McPearson Detective Agency…” I began. “All Mysteries solved for a small few plus exp…” “Oh, forget all that baloney!” interrupted a voice I recognised. “Particularly your ludicrous claim to be a ‘detective’ – someone should have you up for abuse of trade’s description – your claim’s an insult to we real detectives! You should describe yourself as ‘Hugh McPearson Totally Incompetent Twit’. After a while I recognised the voice denigrating me. It was my brother the so-called ‘Ace Detective’… Well to be honest the actual Ace Detective. “Hugh!” I declared when the penny finally dropped. “Why have you called me?” Despite his opinion of my competence – or rather lack of it – as a detective, Hugh had never bothered to call me just for the purpose of insulting me. Normally he saved up a year’s worth of insults for our annual family dinner at Christmas. I think mum and dad were finally getting fed up with it. “I need a total twit,” replied my brother curtly. “What?” I responded. Hugh seemed to have graduated to a higher level of brotherly abuse than usual but I still had no idea why he’d really called me. “I need a total twit,” repeated Hugh. “The villain I’m trying to catch is completely unpredictable – I need someone who might be on the same wavelength as them. So I need a total twit. Obviously I immediately thought of you.” “Let me get this straight…” I replied, trying to get things clear. “Despite calling me up out of the blue and insulting me, you actually need my help.” “Yes… you’re the biggest and therefore most completely total twit I know,” replied Hugh. Grudgingly, he continued, “Please will you help me?” There was a long pause. Hugh had never used the word ‘please’ in any sentence addressed to me… except possibly “please, go away” or “please, get out of the way” … although the word please was generally missing from those sentences in any case..."
Hugh McPearson and the Confounding Riddles
Steve Way
£0.99 Added
In his sixth bizarre adventure Hugh (and his brother who is also called Hugh) face their nemesis. This mysterious master villain has already stolen all the gold from The Bank of England and all the paintings from Buckingham Palace and now Hugh (and Hugh) have to prevent the villain from... well, they don't know what to prevent unless they can crack the villain's mysterious coded riddles. According to Hugh (Hugh's brother) a total twit is needed. Confused... read on... "I was sitting at my desk ready for work, appreciating the fact that my desk was sitting at me, also ready for work. I hoped it had enjoyed its evening off the night before, like I had. However, for the desk that meant enjoying being in the same place as it was all day while we were sitting at each other ready for work (or actually working) but without us both sitting at each other being ready for work (or actually working.) The phone began ringing so I presumed that the desk and I would soon be working rather than being ready for work (or enjoying time off not sitting at each other.) I answered the phone. “Hugh McPearson Detective Agency…” I began. “All Mysteries solved for a small few plus exp…” “Oh, forget all that baloney!” interrupted a voice I recognised. “Particularly your ludicrous claim to be a ‘detective’ – someone should have you up for abuse of trade’s description – your claim’s an insult to we real detectives! You should describe yourself as ‘Hugh McPearson Totally Incompetent Twit’. After a while I recognised the voice denigrating me. It was my brother the so-called ‘Ace Detective’… Well to be honest the actual Ace Detective. “Hugh!” I declared when the penny finally dropped. “Why have you called me?” Despite his opinion of my competence – or rather lack of it – as a detective, Hugh had never bothered to call me just for the purpose of insulting me. Normally he saved up a year’s worth of insults for our annual family dinner at Christmas. I think mum and dad were finally getting fed up with it. “I need a total twit,” replied my brother curtly. “What?” I responded. Hugh seemed to have graduated to a higher level of brotherly abuse than usual but I still had no idea why he’d really called me. “I need a total twit,” repeated Hugh. “The villain I’m trying to catch is completely unpredictable – I need someone who might be on the same wavelength as them. So I need a total twit. Obviously I immediately thought of you.” “Let me get this straight…” I replied, trying to get things clear. “Despite calling me up out of the blue and insulting me, you actually need my help.” “Yes… you’re the biggest and therefore most completely total twit I know,” replied Hugh. Grudgingly, he continued, “Please will you help me?” There was a long pause. Hugh had never used the word ‘please’ in any sentence addressed to me… except possibly “please, go away” or “please, get out of the way” … although the word please was generally missing from those sentences in any case..."
Water off a Duck's Back
Sarah Passingham
£0.99 Added
Except for the duck, the wedding is unremarkable. It’s a celebrity marriage, but all the usual things happen, and in more or less the correct order. The caterers are too early, and the flowers are late. The best man—who is not Rowan’s best man but the brother of the bride—pretends to lose the ring. Gloria has a last minute fight with her mother over her intention to honour, but not to obey in her wedding vows, and one of the bridesmaids eats too many chocolates and has to go home. It’s at the reception that things start to go seriously awry. And almost everything can be blamed, at least in the beginning, on a small, male mandarin duck. "The duck had been there since the early morning. Gloria told Rowan that she had seen it from her bedroom window. She’d woken early because the new wind-chimes in the Versailles potted orange trees had disturbed her. The duck had been swimming in lazy circles on the turquoise surface of the swimming pool and, apart from noting a pleasing splash of bright orange against dark aubergine that might have a place in a colour scheme somewhere in their new ranch house, she gave it not a moment’s more thought. This was a mistake ..."
The Non-Adventures of Mr Sproutface and Mr Wibbleton
Nick Lovering
£1.99 Added
Mr Sproutface and Mr Wibbleton, committed jumper wearers, museum visitors and lovers of minestrone soup, are looking for a way to escape their work in the circus. One afternoon, while sitting in a puddle of spilt breakfast cereal, they decide to follow their dream and bring cheese to the people of Basingstoke. However, the modern world is difficult. Sometimes, one faces prolems that cannot be fixed with a list and a damp cloth. Whether it is cheese-dinosaurs, bakers intent on World Domination, missing hamsters or being locked in a trouser museum, non-adventures are never far away. But for every problem, there is a solution. And as long as Mr Sproutface and Mr Wibbleton have their jumpers, a bowl of minestrone soup and each other, they will find a way to keep their dream alive. This story is aimed at children between 7 and 11 but there's plenty for adults to enjoy as well.
Saturday Night
Derek Thompson
£0.99 Added
Saturday night is date night, and after a long week what's the harm if we lie to ourselves a little? A short piece about the reality of dating and attraction when we've already been around the block a few times. "'Am I fat?' Martha swayed in front of the TV, trying to gauge her reflection. I bobbed my head side to side, to work around her. I didn’t say nothing because I had nothing to say about it."
Mrs Moretti's Memoirs
Yasmin Keyani
£1.59 Added
When George agrees to transcribe the memoir notes of his neighbour, Mrs Moretti, he uncovers much more than just the ramblings of a gentle old lady. Was Mrs Moretti an accessory to a notorious crime forty years ago? And is George in danger now?
Personal Calls
Brindley Hallam Dennis
£1.29 Added
A mobile phone in the wrong hands, can lead to who knows what messages in the wrong ears....
The Dollar
Tim Kelly
£0.99 Added
One dollar! It is an insult. I won’t pay, I tell you, I won’t...
Countdown and Other Horror Stories
Steve Wilson
£1.59 Added
A date from hell; a camping trip with freshly-caught meat on the menu; a Spanish lesson concerning the futility of life; an alcohol-fuelled dream or was it reality?; a secret assignation at a graveyard; the nosy neighbour who found more than he expected; the hair of the dog that wasn't a cure; the effects of the moon on a near-empty beach; exploring an alien landscape - a new collection of nine stories with a theme of horror running through them.
Waste
Tracey Emerson
£0.99 Added
At eight a.m., on the morning of the last day of her life, Alice Calder stood shivering in the outdoor pool of the Madeira Heights Hotel.
Eggbound
Gillian Best
£0.99 Added
Charlie Carbunckle, an obsessive pigeon fancier, suffers the loss of one of his birds and the blame falls at the feet of his son Seamus.
Happy Valentine's Day, Darling!
R. G. Tooth
£0.99 Added
Poor Keith, nothing was too good for his special valentine.
Taking Tea With Marc Bolan
Lynda Nash
£0.99 Added
Taking tea with Marc Bolan in a cafe somewhere in London
A Feast of Flash Fictions
Brindley Hallam Dennis
£0.99 Added
Ten Flash Fictions, from 449, to 96 words short...illicit affairs and railroad crashes, murderous spouses and vengeful neighbours.
Danny's Dancing Legs
Ray Lawrence
£1.99 Added
Danny P. Grunch had no sense of rhythm and about as much melodic movement in his body as a school of barnacles stuck to the bottom of an upturned boat. He thought he could dance - he couldn't - until he went to Africa and met a Witch Doctor...
Milo and the Millennium Bug
Leslie Wilkie
£0.99 Added
Much has been written about the effects of the millennium bug...I was responsible for saving my crew from this dreadful disease...
The Medicine Man
Leslie Wilkie
£0.99 Added
A Ship's doctor's trials and tribulations.
Dummies Don't Talk
Ray Lawrence
£1.99 Added
Lenny Waterman thought he could throw his voice. He couldn't - as a Ventriloquist he would have given Archie Andrews palpitations - and then he met with a mysterious old Romany lady who gave him a gift that would change his life forever...
A Sheila called Sheila
Leslie Wilkie
£0.99 Added
Students take gap years between A levels and university - I took mine when my wife left me for the milkman...
Wrong Again, Karen
Albert Woods
£0.99 Added
"But I've not done Indian," I told Karen. And besides, the boys are not from India." "It's all the same to them," she said, her cheeky blue eyes sparkling with self-confidence. "Just whip up something hot. They'll love it."
A Rat's Tale
G Mills
£1.29 Added
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Dominic du Mortier and I am a hundred and sixty one years old. No no, stay where you are please. It’s not that I’m unwilling to shake your hand, please don’t think that. It’s really more a case of my being unable. Permit me to explain. I am beyond reach. And behind glass. And a rodent. Nothing special you understand – just a Rattus norvegicus, or a common brown rat to you. Oh yes, and dead. Did I mention that?
One Of My Passengers Is Missing
Ray Lawrence
£1.29 Added
Benny Green is worried - passengers are vanishing from his taxi cab and the Police are getting interested. Where are they vanishing to? Benny is desperate to find out...
The Waiting Room
Helen Stockton
£0.99 Added
If you've ever sat in a doctor's waiting room, wondering how long you are going to have to wait and what you're going to catch whilst you're waiting, then this is the story for you...
Goffin's Coffin
Albert Woods
£1.29 Added
Ha ha... tee hee... we chortled with glee As we buried the pinchfist Goffin None of us ever liked him much Which was why we bought him a coffin Spot of black comedy here
The Weather House
Helen Pizzey
£1.29 Added
The contents of Auntie's beaten-out, oversized handbag contain a closely-guarded secret...
Thaw
Helen Pizzey
£0.99 Added
The manically-depressed iceberg has few friends among the polar bears at the North Atlantic Bar.
The Buttered Fly Effect
Peter Jump
£1.59 Added
When feisty 35-year-old Jane decides to confront Fear 37 she soon finds herself adrift in a sea of chaos. In a rundown hotel in Dawson Creek, Canada, to achieve her goal she must contend with crazed middle-aged bikers, drunk oil workers and a hippy called Ralf. Will she survive to face Fear 38?
Crisis Meeting in Hell
Jonathan Macho
£0.99 Added
Seven days into the end of the world, there was a crisis meeting in Hell. This was a rare occurrence. A crisis meeting implies of course that a crisis had taken place, and needs to be resolved in some way. The usual reaction to a crisis in the seven circles was a street party.
Silence in Court
Sue Dean
£1.59 Added
A day in a Magistrate's Court
Dirty Work
When a bank forecloses on a company it's a case of numbers of a spreadsheet, but for those giving and receiving the news... things are more immediate. Bad news travels fast, so we had to travel faster. This, in essence, was the notion that guided us. You get it, you give it, you move on. Do it right and you’re away before things get messy, before the condemned have had time to let the reality of their new circumstances sink in, before that hollow look they get in their eyes has had a chance to take root in your memory. Do it that way and it’s smooth and efficient. Do it that way and it’s as close as something like this gets to being a job well done. And that’s generally how it went. Most of the time. This particular call came in late morning one Christmas Eve and swiftly killed off any hopes I’d had of any early finish. That disappointment was then exacerbated by the fact my car wouldn’t start, having been left parked up with the lights on for a few days. I’d been drinking most nights, medicating a malaise that often reared its head around that time of year. Happily, my thirst meshed well with the festive season. Our office’s underlying culture of functional alcoholism always received a shot in the arm that time of year. Yet, that morning as I sat in the car park turning the key in hope and then without, I wasn’t feeling all that functional. Jump leads and attempted push starts proved useless. The battery didn’t need so much a mechanic as a coroner. I was calling a taxi to take me to the train station when Russell Boyd sauntered over, all three-piece suit and Italian loafers. He sparked up ceremoniously and took a long pull before acknowledging me. It never did to be too cosy with the underlings. “Shouldn’t you be out bringing comfort and joy to the masses?” he asked. I explained the situation. Russell’s smoke curled in my direction. “Where to?” “Grantham, Lincolnshire.” “Sounds a shithole.” He paused a moment, as if sounding out a thought and finding that it pleased him, “I’ll drive you.” I laughed and waited for the punchline. It came in the form of the central locking system of his gleaming, bottle-green Jaguar yipping eagerly to attention..."
Dirty Work
Paul Lahert
£1.59 Added
When a bank forecloses on a company it's a case of numbers of a spreadsheet, but for those giving and receiving the news... things are more immediate. Bad news travels fast, so we had to travel faster. This, in essence, was the notion that guided us. You get it, you give it, you move on. Do it right and you’re away before things get messy, before the condemned have had time to let the reality of their new circumstances sink in, before that hollow look they get in their eyes has had a chance to take root in your memory. Do it that way and it’s smooth and efficient. Do it that way and it’s as close as something like this gets to being a job well done. And that’s generally how it went. Most of the time. This particular call came in late morning one Christmas Eve and swiftly killed off any hopes I’d had of any early finish. That disappointment was then exacerbated by the fact my car wouldn’t start, having been left parked up with the lights on for a few days. I’d been drinking most nights, medicating a malaise that often reared its head around that time of year. Happily, my thirst meshed well with the festive season. Our office’s underlying culture of functional alcoholism always received a shot in the arm that time of year. Yet, that morning as I sat in the car park turning the key in hope and then without, I wasn’t feeling all that functional. Jump leads and attempted push starts proved useless. The battery didn’t need so much a mechanic as a coroner. I was calling a taxi to take me to the train station when Russell Boyd sauntered over, all three-piece suit and Italian loafers. He sparked up ceremoniously and took a long pull before acknowledging me. It never did to be too cosy with the underlings. “Shouldn’t you be out bringing comfort and joy to the masses?” he asked. I explained the situation. Russell’s smoke curled in my direction. “Where to?” “Grantham, Lincolnshire.” “Sounds a shithole.” He paused a moment, as if sounding out a thought and finding that it pleased him, “I’ll drive you.” I laughed and waited for the punchline. It came in the form of the central locking system of his gleaming, bottle-green Jaguar yipping eagerly to attention..."
The Fate of Dogs
Tess Hudson
£1.59 Added
A French toilet, a jealous husband and two dogs
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

   

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