Jessica Kirson: 21 Unfiltered, Loud, and Gut-Busting Jokes

I walk into a room and immediately assume everyone hates me. That’s confidence, right? Like, “Hi, I’m here and I know you’ve already formed a negative opinion of me. Great to see you, too.”

Please enjoy watching me pretend I belong here while overthinking every facial expression you make. Social situations often lead to a whirlwind of self-doubt.

Yet, the irony is not lost—confidence, when fueled by paranoia and self-awareness, somehow becomes a comedic masterpiece. Kirson’s ability to laugh at herself allows audiences to feel a sense of connection and relief through relatable humor.

My therapist asked how I deal with stress. I said, “I eat carbs like they’re apology letters, cry while aggressively scrolling TikTok, and yell at my plants for not growing faster.”

Then I stress about how I handled the stress. This cycle of stress and resolution—or lack thereof—paints a vivid picture of modern life’s chaos.

Kirson hilariously captures the essence of stress management, where self-care is a perpetual work in progress. Her comedy reveals how stress can be both a personal nemesis and a source of comedic inspiration, always relatable and entertaining.

You ever try meditating when you have ADHD, anxiety, Jewish guilt, and a digestive system that thinks peace is a threat?

It’s like, “Breathe in… oh no, what if I die alone? Breathe out… was that a gas pain or an existential crisis?” Meditation becomes a battlefield of intrusive thoughts.

Kirson’s comedic genius lies in transforming the pursuit of peace into a relatable struggle. Her depiction of meditation highlights the internal chaos many face, turning a quest for serenity into an uproarious inner dialogue, resonating with anyone who’s tried to calm their mind.

I don’t do yoga. I did it once and got stuck in downward dog for so long I started crying, then farted, then panicked and played dead.

They had to roll me out of the studio like a haunted bean bag chair. Yoga, often seen as a serene practice, becomes an unexpected comedy event.

Kirson transforms a typical yoga session into a slapstick scenario, where tranquility meets bodily betrayal. The absurdity lies in the exaggeration, highlighting how life’s serene moments can quickly turn into an uproarious spectacle.

I told a guy I liked him and he said, “That’s flattering.” I said, “Oh no, I didn’t mean you. I meant pizza. I confuse feelings and melted cheese.”

Then I panicked and ghosted myself. This joke highlights the love affair many have with food, often confusing genuine affection with culinary cravings.

Kirson’s humor reveals the humorous truth behind emotional eating. By mixing romance with gastronomic desires, she creates a comedic juxtaposition that resonates with anyone who’s ever found solace in a slice, adding a deliciously funny twist to love.

My internal monologue sounds like an angry aunt who drinks boxed wine at noon and critiques my posture while judging my snack choices. “Oh, chips again? Classy.”

Our inner critic often mirrors a disapproving relative, making mundane decisions feel like moral failures.

Jessica Kirson captures this internal dialogue with precision, using humor to highlight self-imposed judgment. The exaggerated imagery of a wine-sipping aunt adds color to the narrative, providing a comedic angle to the all-too-familiar self-scrutiny, a mental caricature many find amusingly relatable.

I’m not jealous of my friend’s baby. I’m just envious that he gets carried everywhere, fed on demand, and people throw parties when he poops.

I do the same thing and suddenly I’m ‘a mess.’ The contrast between adult responsibilities and infant privileges becomes a comedic goldmine.

Kirson’s joke underscores the absurdity of adult life, where achievements are often met with indifference, unlike the lavish praise given to infants. Her ability to draw humor from everyday observations makes the audience chuckle at the universal truth of adult envy towards baby-like pampering.

I went on a juice cleanse. After one day, I chewed on a table leg. By day two, I was hallucinating rotisserie chickens and whispering sweet nothings to a can of garbanzo beans.

Juice cleanses, often touted for health benefits, become a whimsical nightmare. Kirson’s vivid description of a cleanse-induced hallucination turns deprivation into comedy.

The joke captures the struggle between wellness aspirations and primal hunger, a balance many strive for but few achieve without humor. Her exaggerated imagery provides a laugh-out-loud perspective on dietary fads and their often bizarre impact on the mind.

I love dating apps. It’s like window shopping for heartbreak. You swipe past one guy with a shirtless fish photo and land on another whose bio says, “Just looking for something real,” while he ghosted his cat.

The online dating scene is rife with irony and disappointment. Kirson’s humorous take on dating app culture highlights the superficiality and fleeting nature of digital romance.

Her wit shines in the juxtaposition of sincere bios and questionable actions, revealing the often humorous disconnect between intention and reality in the quest for love in the digital age.

A guy ghosted me, so I showed up to his house dressed as a ghost. I knocked on the door like, “You wanted a haunting? BOO, it’s me—your poor decision!”

The act of ghosting takes a literal turn in Kirson’s comedic universe. Her reversal of roles brings humor to the often painful experience of being ignored.

By embodying the ghost, she humorously confronts rejection with creativity and defiance. This joke turns heartbreak into a theatrical spectacle, showcasing Kirson’s ability to transform personal setbacks into empowering and laugh-inducing narratives.

I don’t need a relationship—I need a full-time hype person who follows me around saying, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” every time I find parking or don’t cry during a phone call.

The need for constant validation becomes a humorous desire. Kirson’s fantasy of a personal cheerleader captures the essence of modern self-affirmation needs.

Her joke highlights the small victories that often go unnoticed, turning mundane achievements into celebrations. This comedic twist encourages audiences to find joy in everyday successes, celebrating life’s simplicity with a cheer and a laugh, making the ordinary extraordinary.

I started therapy and within five minutes I was comforting the therapist. I said, “You’re doing your best. I know it’s hard listening to people like me all day. Do you need a snack?”

Kirson’s comedic timing shines in this role reversal. By offering solace to a professional healer, she flips the therapeutic dynamic on its head.

The joke underscores the shared humanity in all relationships, even those traditionally seen as one-sided. Her ability to find humor in unexpected places highlights the universal need for empathy and connection, making audiences laugh at the absurdity of caring too much.

I ate three bagels today. Not because I was hungry, but because self-love looks different when you’re horizontal in sweatpants watching crime documentaries and avoiding your mother’s texts.

Kirson’s humor reveals the comfort found in carbs amidst moments of avoidance. The image of a bagel binge becomes a symbol of self-care.

Her joke captures the universal struggle between indulgence and responsibility, turning a simple act of eating into a commentary on personal well-being. By embracing her choices with humor, Kirson encourages audiences to find solace in life’s simple pleasures, without judgment.

My mom asked me when I’m having kids. I said, “When I stop being one. Right now I still throw tantrums, cry in dressing rooms, and need snacks every 90 minutes. Not ready.”

Kirson’s ability to highlight adult immaturity provides a comedic lens on the expectations of adulthood. Her humor reflects the reluctance to embrace traditional milestones.

By acknowledging her childlike tendencies, she crafts a narrative of self-awareness wrapped in laughter. The joke resonates with anyone navigating the pressures of growing up, offering a humorous escape from societal norms, and embracing one’s unique timeline.

I tried flirting by saying, “So… do you believe in emotionally unavailable people?” He said no. I said, “Well, lucky for you, I do.” Then I ran into a wall and cried in the bathroom.

Kirson’s comedic depiction of a flirtation gone wrong turns awkwardness into entertainment. Her self-deprecating style highlights the vulnerability of romantic pursuits.

The exaggerated mishap turns an embarrassing moment into a relatable story, showcasing the humor inherent in human interactions. Her ability to laugh at herself encourages audiences to embrace their imperfections, finding laughter amidst the cringeworthy moments of life.

I don’t binge-watch shows. I marry them. “We’ve been through six seasons, a break-up arc, and two deaths together. I’m emotionally committed. If this show gets canceled, I’ll need grief counseling.”

Kirson’s witty take on media consumption channels the emotional depth often reserved for personal relationships. Her humor highlights the emotional investment in fictional narratives.

The joke captures the blurred line between reality and entertainment, revealing the profound connection many feel with their favorite shows. By turning binge-watching into a committed relationship, Kirson’s humor resonates with anyone who’s ever been heartbroken by a series finale.

I have gym clothes. They live in a drawer. Sometimes I open it, look at them, sigh, and say, “One day… when pigs fly and kale tastes like donuts.”

Kirson’s humor captures the gap between good intentions and reality. The gym clothes become a symbol of unfulfilled fitness aspirations.

Her joke highlights the all-too-common struggle with motivation, turning the unopened workout gear into a comedic focal point. This lighthearted perspective encourages self-acceptance and laughter at our own expense, making the pursuit of health feel less daunting and more approachable, with a chuckle.

I went on a silent retreat, but I’m from Jersey, so the whole time I just screamed “I’M BEING SPIRITUAL” in my head while pacing in sweatpants and silently judging everyone else for breathing too loud.

Kirson’s comedic flair turns a serene retreat into an internal chaos. Her juxtaposition of outward calm and inner turmoil creates a humorous narrative.

By highlighting the struggle between external expectations and personal reality, her joke underscores the irony in the quest for tranquility. This humorous take on self-discovery resonates with those who find peace elusive and laughter inevitable.

My confidence is a fragile piñata. One bad date, one passive-aggressive email, or one pair of pants not fitting—and BOOM, it’s raining insecurities and cookie crumbs.

Kirson’s metaphorical humor paints a vivid picture of human vulnerability. The broken piñata becomes a symbol of self-esteem’s fragility.

Her joke captures the suddenness with which confidence can crumble, offering a relatable and comedic reflection on personal growth. By turning insecurity into a playful metaphor, she encourages audiences to find humor in their own imperfections, embracing the messiness of life with a smile.

My niece told me I’m her second favorite aunt. I said, “That’s fine, sweetie. But when your favorite aunt doesn’t show up with glitter markers and unconditional emotional support, remember who’s got snacks and trauma bonding skills.”

Kirson’s humor captures familial competition with wit and warmth. Her playful rivalry highlights the dynamics of family relationships.

The joke becomes a lighthearted reminder of the value of presence and support, turning sibling rivalry into an endearing comedic narrative. By embracing her role, Kirson offers a humorous take on family bonds, celebrating love and laughter.

I don’t walk into rooms—I crash through them with a backpack full of panic, a face that says “Is this okay?”, and a monologue of emotional damage on loop like a Broadway audition for someone who hasn’t slept since Tuesday.

Kirson’s ability to transform an entrance into a theatrical event showcases her comedic genius. Her exaggerated imagery highlights the chaos of social anxiety.

The joke resonates with anyone who’s ever felt overwhelmed in new settings, turning nervousness into a comedic spectacle. By embracing her inner turmoil, Kirson provides audiences with a hilarious and cathartic exploration of self-acceptance.