The Dad Joke Showdown

It was a quiet Friday evening at Charlie’s apartment. The kind of night where the air outside was crisp, and inside, the only thing louder than the hum of the refrigerator was the laughter of friends gathering for what could only be described as “The Ultimate Dad Joke Showdown.”

Charlie, the self-proclaimed king of dad jokes, had invited his friends over for an evening of terrible puns, groan-worthy punchlines, and so much laughter that they’d be sore the next day. The table was set, pizza was ordered, and drinks were ready. It was time for battle.

"Alright, folks," Charlie said, raising a can of soda like it was a trophy. "The rules are simple. Each of us tells a dad joke. If it makes someone groan or laugh, you get a point. If someone groans and laughs, you get two points. And if you manage to make someone facepalm and question their life choices, you win."

Everyone nodded in agreement, some already looking like they were about to unleash a joke that could change the world.

First up was Lisa, the youngest of the group, who always had a knack for telling jokes that were so bad, they were brilliant. She leaned forward, gave a dramatic pause, and said:

“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”

Everyone looked at her, waiting for the punchline.

“Because they don’t have the guts!”

The room erupted in groans. Charlie slapped his hand on the table, giving her a point.

“Alright, that was a solid start,” Charlie said, grinning. “But we’re just getting warmed up.”

Next was Greg, who had been preparing his best dad jokes all week. He cleared his throat like he was about to announce world-changing news.

“Why don’t eggs tell each other secrets?”

The room was silent, the tension building.

“Because they might crack up!”

The group stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. It was that perfect balance of eye-roll-inducing and hilarious.

Charlie chuckled, marking a point on his notepad. “Not bad, Greg. Not bad at all.”

Then it was Dave’s turn. Dave had been oddly quiet all evening, but everyone knew he was secretly a dad joke master. He took a long sip from his drink, looked around at the group with a mischievous grin, and said:

“I only know 25 letters of the alphabet.”

Everyone stared, waiting for the punchline.

“Because I don’t know y.”

Silence. Complete, utter silence. Then, one by one, people started snickering. The laughter snowballed until the entire table was in tears, unable to breathe.

Charlie wiped his eyes, barely able to write down Dave’s two points. "Okay, that’s it. I’m officially out of the competition," he said, gasping for air.

But no one was done yet. It was time for Marissa, who, much to her own surprise, had recently discovered an unsettling talent for dad jokes. She leaned back in her chair, stretched her arms out, and said:

“I’m reading a book on anti-gravity.”

Everyone leaned in.

“It’s impossible to put down.”

The table collectively groaned, but it was a proud groan. A groan of respect.

"Alright, Marissa," Charlie said, handing her a point, "you're up there with the legends now."

Then it was Charlie’s turn—the self-proclaimed dad joke king. He cleared his throat dramatically, waiting for the perfect moment to drop his magnum opus.

“Okay, here it comes,” he warned. “You ready?”

Everyone leaned forward, knowing this would be the moment.

“Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

The group was on the edge of their seats. This was it—the big one.

“Because he was outstanding in his field.”

For a second, the room was still. Then, in a synchronized chorus, they all groaned. Some even winced. Charlie’s grin spread wide as he put a massive checkmark on his sheet.

"Yes! That's a classic. I still got it."

As the night wore on, more jokes came. Some good. Some bad. But all of them brought the group together in a sea of laughter and groans. They were bad, sure, but they were their bad jokes, and they were exactly what they needed.

Lisa, after hearing too many dad jokes, groaned, "You guys are all terrible. I can’t believe I’m stuck in this dad joke nightmare."

Charlie looked around the table, smiling like a man who had won every prize in the universe. "You know what they say, Lisa... you’ve cracked under pressure.”

The groans echoed around the room, but Charlie was ready. He stood up, arms raised like a champion.

"Alright, everyone! Final joke of the night, and it's mine. And trust me, you’re gonna love this one."

Everyone braced themselves.

“Why don't oysters donate to charity?”

The room tensed. Everyone had their game faces on.

“Because they’re shellfish!”

The room erupted in a mix of laughter, groans, and a few well-placed facepalms. Dave, wiping away a tear, said, “Charlie, I think you’ve just earned yourself a permanent seat at the Dad Joke Hall of Fame.”

The night ended with laughter ringing in the air and the promise of more dad jokes to come. But the real winner was clear: It wasn’t the jokes, or the points, or the puns. It was the feeling of being with friends who didn’t need to be perfect, just perfectly terrible.

As they all parted ways, Charlie waved goodbye, his grin never fading. “Don’t forget, folks—every joke is just a pun waiting to be made."

And they all groaned, together.