57 Neuroscience Puns That Are Nerve-Wrackingly Funny
Neuroscience puns are the only category of wordplay where I genuinely can’t tell if I’m being clever or if my prefrontal cortex is just...
Reading is the only hobby where people brag about doing it in bed, in the bath, and at work, and nobody bats an eye. I’ve been a book person since I was seven and realized the library would just give you books for free. That felt illegal. Anyway, here are way too many reading puns, some of which I’m genuinely proud of and others that should probably be returned to the shelf.
I like big books and I cannot lie.
(Look, you can’t do a reading puns list without it. It’s the law. I don’t make the rules.)
I’m totally booked this weekend.
I like my books like I like my coffee: well-read.
Honestly? I’m a little proud of this one. It works on like three levels if you think about coffee stains on paperbacks. You don’t even have to think about coffee stains on paperbacks. But you can.
What’s a book’s favorite type of music? R&B, Read and Books.
Yeah, that’s a stretch. I know. Moving on.
My favorite genre is anything that’s novel.
My friend asked why I was ignoring her texts. I said I wasn’t ignoring her, I was just deep in text. She didn’t laugh either.
Why did the reader break up with the bookmark? They felt like they were just being used to hold a place in the relationship.
This book is so good it’s binding me. Like, I physically cannot put it down. The glue on the spine might also be involved.
My life is an open book, but I’m still writing the chapters. β¨
(Go ahead, screenshot that. I won’t judge.)
My favorite exercise is curling up with a good book.
I’ve been turning over a new leaf. Literally. I’m reading outdoors now and it’s windy and terrible.
What do librarians and DJs have in common? They both know how to drop the needle on a classic. This only works if you know that old library catalog systems used phonograph-style indexing for audiovisual materials, and honestly I just wanted to feel smart for knowing that. The pun barely holds together. I’m keeping it.
I’m always on the same page as my favorite authors.
What do you call someone who reads while walking? A plot pedestrian.
…I’m sorry.
Reading between the wines, that’s what I call book club.
THIS ONE. This is the one I’d put on a tote bag. I would buy this tote bag. Someone please make this tote bag.
I told my therapist I was having trouble with my story arc. She said, “Your life or the book?” I said, “Yes.”
An uncut quarto walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Sorry, I can’t serve you, you haven’t been opened yet.” This is exclusively funny if you know about bibliographic formats from early modern printing. So like four people are laughing right now, and I love all four of you.
I’m a page-turner myself.
Quick sidebar: does anyone else get irrationally angry when someone dog-ears a library book? That’s community property. That’s a shared resource. You’re basically vandalizing a tiny government building. Okay, back to puns.
What did one bookend say to the other? “I’ll meet you in the middle, that’s where the story gets good.”
This story is spell-binding. And by that I mean I’ve been spelling “Dostoevsky” wrong for fifteen years and only just noticed.
Dewey love a good library pun? Dewey ever.
That’s probably the worst one on this list. Ngl, I almost deleted it three times. But it kept surviving the cut, which tells you something about my editorial standards.
Currently in a very committed long-term relationship π
I’m not just reading, I’m devouring knowledge. Nom nom nom. Very intellectual sounds.
What do you call a book that’s been left out in the rain? A washed-up bestseller.
I asked the librarian if they had any books on paranoia. She whispered, “They’re right behind you.”
A colophon walks into a party and nobody recognizes it. “I’m literally at the end of every book,” it says. “Yeah,” says the ISBN, “but nobody reads that far.” If you know what a colophon is without Googling, we’re best friends now. It’s the little note at the end of a book about the typeface and printing details. Deeply nerdy. Deeply satisfying.
You had me at “chapter one.”
This book has me on the edge of my page.
“How’s the mystery novel?”
“The plot thickens.”
“…that’s literally just a description of what happens.”
“I know. That’s the beauty of it.”
My brain is a library, and honestly? The cataloging system is a mess. Things are misfiled. The biography section has merged with the fiction section and I can’t tell what actually happened to me anymore.
Speed round because I’ve got momentum:
I’m a book-a-holic. My shelf-esteem has never been higher. And my reading list? It’s a real tome commitment.
What did the spine say to the pages? “I’ve got your back.”
Ugh. I know. I KNOW.
Reading in the bathtub is just paperback roulette.
Just DNF’d a 400-page book at page 398. Some stories just don’t grab you π€·
I told my friend I was reading a book about anti-gravity. I couldn’t put it down.
This pun is so old it has its own ISBN. But I can’t not include it. It’s grandfathered in.
Real talk for a second, is there a more satisfying feeling than finishing a book and immediately starting the next one? It’s like the reading equivalent of that gif where someone pushes a row of dominoes. Okay, not really. Bad analogy. Whatever. Puns.
Why did the dictionary feel superior? It had all the words and knew their meanings. Total know-it-all. Couldn’t even enjoy a good narrative arc.
Plot twist: I’m staying in tonight π
My TBR pile isn’t a pile anymore. It’s a geological formation.
I’m not a book-pusher. I’m a book-recommender. There’s a difference. One involves eye contact and increasingly desperate enthusiasm. The other is a crime.
I was reading a book about Stockholm syndrome. At first I hated it, but by the end I kinda loved it.
Okay THAT one. That one’s good. I don’t care what anyone says. That’s the best joke on this list and I didn’t even write it, it’s been floating around the internet for years. But I’m claiming it now through sheer force of appreciation.
My bookmark fell out and now I’m rereading 60 pages. This is my villain origin story.
Some people count sheep to fall asleep. I count unread books. It doesn’t help, it just gives me anxiety.
I’ve got a lot on my plate. And by plate I mean nightstand. And by a lot I mean eleven books stacked in a structurally unsound tower.
Derrida walks into a library. Or does the library walk into Derrida? The text is unstable. The meaning is deferred. He checks out nothing and somehow still owes a late fee. If you studied deconstruction in college, this is either hilarious or deeply triggering. Possibly both. Tbh I barely understand it myself but it feels right.
Every book is a self-help book if you help yourself to it from someone else’s shelf.
“What are you reading?”
“A book on procrastination.”
“When did you start it?”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
I’m always checking out new books from the library. The librarian says I have a type. Overdue.
You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy books, and that’s kinda the same thing.
Fiction addiction is real, and the first step is admitting you have a problem. The second step is buying another book about admitting you have a problem. The third step is a prequel.
Why did the novel go to therapy? Too many unresolved characters.
I tried to organize my bookshelf by color and my English professor appeared in my doorway like a horror movie antagonist. Idk how she even got my address.
My reading speed depends entirely on whether I’m being watched. Alone? Glacial. Someone timing me? Suddenly illiterate.
Anyway, I’ve gotta go, there’s a book on my nightstand giving me the spine. That’s not a typo. That’s the pun. We’re done here.
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