What do you call a psychic little bowl? A small medium at large.
Why can’t bowls play tennis? Because they can never get their serve in.
I entered my bowl in a race once. It was disqualified for doping.
My bowl collection is getting out of control. It’s spiraling out of bowl-ance.
What do you call a bowl that works as a private investigator? A super sleuth bowl.
Want to hear a joke about bowls? Nevermind, it’s pretty shallow.
Did you hear about the claustrophobic bowl? It was feeling a little boxed in.
Why don’t melamine bowls tell secrets? They’re too dish-creet.
What do you call a bowl that eats too fast? A gobbler.
My bowl is a master fisherman. You should see him bowl and reel in the big ones!
What do you call a bowl that loves sweets? A candy dish.
What do you call a bowl that works on Wall Street? A broker bowl.
Bowl One-Liners
I was going to tell a joke about bowls, but there’s no punchline.
What happened to the bowl who got too close to the edge of the counter? It fell flat.
My friend got mad when I asked to borrow his favorite bowl. He said “Don’t bowl-ther me.”
What do you get when you drop a bowl? Shattered hopes and broken dreams.
Want to hear a joke about bowls? Just kidding, it’s pretty weak.
What’s a bowl’s least favorite cheese? Provolone.
How do bowls stay connected? Through their Wi-Bowl network.
What kind of bowls work at the circus? Juggling bowls.
My bowl identifies as a vase. It’s going through an identity crisis.
What did one bowl say to the other while playing chess? “It’s your turn, bowl.”
Want to hear a joke about ceramic bowls? Ah, just forget it.
Best Bowl Jokes
Last week my friend invited me over to check out his new bowl collection. He had bowls of all shapes, sizes, and colors. As I was looking through them all, I picked up a tiny little bowl and said, “Wow, look at this cute little bowl!” My friend gasped dramatically and said, “That is not just any bowl! That is my son!” Confused, I looked down at the tiny bowl in my hand as my friend yelled, “Don’t talk to me or my bowl ever again!” and kicked me out of his house.
I was eating cereal out of my favorite bowl the other day when I noticed the picture at the bottom was starting to fade. I had used that bowl nearly every day for over 5 years, so I wasn’t surprised. Still, I was disappointed to have to let it go. I brought the fading bowl to the kitchen and gently placed it in the trash can, sighing to myself. As I released the bowl into the trash my roommate suddenly jumped out from behind the counter screaming “NOOOO!” and dove headfirst into the trash, digging frantically for my old bowl. I stared incredulously as he cradled the dirty bowl, sobbing “You can’t throw Bowly away…we’ve been through so much together!” I promptly moved out.
I was hurrying to get ready for a job interview last week when I accidentally knocked my favorite bowl off the counter. As it hit the floor it broke neatly in half. I didn’t have time to mourn as I rushed out the door. When I returned home, I was stunned to find my roommate had superglued the broken bowl back together…but totally misaligned the pieces. One half was rotated 90 degrees from the other. “I fixed your bowl!” my proud roommate declared. All I could do was sigh, take Bowljankenstein back to the kitchen, and toss it straight into the trash.
My sister recently invited me over for a fancy, candlelit bowl-tasting party. When I arrived, classical music was playing as she directed me toward a table set with three bowls filled with murky liquid. “Tonight we are tasting only the finest bowls,” my sister intoned solemnly. “Please, enjoy each bowl slowly, noting its subtle nuances.” As she raised her first bowl toward the candlelight, inhaling deeply before taking a tiny sip, I realized this was no joke. Trying not to laugh, I lifted my first bowl and took a hesitant sip. Potato leek soup. Not bad! I worked my way through roasted tomato bisque and some sort of weird bowl stew before fleeing my sister’s bizarre party for bowls.
I woke up late one night to the sound of crashing coming from my kitchen. I rushed in to see my new roommate standing sheepishly next to my open cupboard. An avalanche of bowls lay at his feet. “I was just looking for a small bowl for cereal when it all came crashing down,” he apologized. “Let me help you clean up!” Before I could respond, he started tossing the bowls carelessly toward the counter from across the kitchen. Bowl after bowl went smashing to the floor as I cringed, watching my entire set get destroyed. “Dude, STOP!” I shouted. “Please…just stop trying to help.” My bowl-demolishing roommate slunk out as I surveyed the wreckage and resigned myself to eating leftovers straight from the container for awhile.
My little cousin was over playing with his food the other day. He had piled up some Cheerios in a bowl on the table and was smushing them between his fingers, chortling happily. I was ignoring him until I heard a tiny voice cry “Help!” I looked over to see my cousin gleefully tormenting the Cheerios, making them scream in high-pitched voices as he crushed them in his fists. Concerned, I said “Cody, what are you doing to the poor Cheerios?” Cody looked at me knowingly and replied “It’s okay, I do this with my bowls all the time. The screams aren’t real.” I promptly called his parents to come pick him up.
My new college roommate constantly annoyed me with her pretentious vegetarian bowl recipes. “Try my raw zucchini noodle bowl!” she’d urge as I grimaced. One night she left a fancy crafted bowl in the fridge labeled “Superfood goddess bowl!” I was sick of her bowls, so I binged on ice cream from the carton instead. The next morning, she was freaking out. “Someone ate my goddess bowl! That was a week’s worth of prep! The ingredients were expensive…that bowl was going to give me ethereal energy!” I tried not to crack up as she mourned the wasted efforts on her grassy bowl concoction. Sweet karma.
Recently my friend invited me over to check out his impressive new knickknack closet. I wandered in to find towering shelves filled with ceramic bowls and trinkets of all kinds. “Here is my prized bowl collection,” he declared, handling each piece gently as he pointed out his favorites. I nodded politely at first, but he just kept going…describing each bowl in detail as my eyes glazed over. Finally I noticed a shelf of cat figurines and gasped “Cats!” hoping to change the subject. My friend paused before snarling “Do NOT interrupt my bowl monologue!” Then he shoved me out of his closet and slammed the door.
My eccentric Aunt Gladys passed away recently. At the reading of her will, her lawyer requested we all select something small from her household possessions to remember her by. Eagerly I reached for a gorgeous ceramic bowl on a side table, when suddenly my cousin snatched it away screaming “No, that was Aunt Gladys’s most prized bowl! I must have it!” Soon we were all brawling over trinkets as the lawyer sighed, watching her clients regress into animals. In the end, all I got was a package of weird pouches labeled “For my bowl.” What bowls need their own pouches?! Leave it to crazy Aunt Gladys.
I was at a hipster cafe last week when I overheard the couple at the next table debating whether to order mushroom bowls. The bearded guy pushed for it: “The mushroom bowls here sing with umami delight!” The girl wavered: “But I had my heart set on their autumnal squash bowl…” This sparked a lengthy philosophical debate regarding the essence of bowls. Confused, I peeked over to look for actual bowls on their menu…only to find they were just talking about soup. I can’t hang out with these bowl people anymore.