210+ Hilarious Teacher and Student Jokes That Make Learning Fun

I failed math but aced the pro-bill-ity of making bad jokes.

My math teacher called me average. How mean!

I do algebra… occasionally.

Why was the math book sad? Too many problems.

Graphing is just plotting revenge in math.

Don’t be irrational—like pi.

My love for math is undefined.

Adding insult to integer-y.

You can count on me… to avoid math.

Math teachers always have calculating personalities.

I before E… except after confusion.

My essays are writefully bad.

That’s a comma-n mistake.

Don’t run-on like my sentences.

Punctuation marks the spot.

I used a pun in my poem—teacher was verse-tile.

Similes are like jokes… some just don’t land.

I’m an oxymoron in English class.

That’s literally not how you spell “literally.”

I put the “pro” in “procrastination.”

My grades in history are ancient history.

Napoleon wasn’t short—just vertically revolutionary.

Caesar’s salad wasn’t his greatest Romaine.

I revolted during the French Revolution unit.

That test was a Cold War in my brain.

Don’t make me go medieval on these puns.

I didn’t study history. I relived my mistakes.

World War Pun just began.

George Washington couldn’t lie, but I can fake confidence.

That grade belongs in a museum.

Chemistry jokes? I’ve got good reaction.

Physics teachers make everything matter.

Biology: where frogs jump and grades drop.

My science project was atom-ic failure.

You matter—unless you’re in a black hole.

The mitochondria is the jokester of the cell.

That Bunsen burner lit up my GPA.

Gravity isn’t holding me down—my test score is.

Atoms make up everything, including this joke.

This science class has no solution.

Welcome to detention: where time goes to die.

I got caught punning—sentence served.

Detention is like Netflix without WiFi.

I’m on a first-name basis with the clock here.

Writing lines builds character.

I brought snacks. They brought judgment.

It’s not detention—it’s after-class comedy club.

Who knew silence could be so loud?

I thought detention was a myth… like good cafeteria food.

I got sent here for crimes of comedy.

My teacher’s jokes are chalk-full of puns.

That test was cruel… I call that eduhurt-cation.

Teachers have class—even when students don’t.

She gave me an F. I gave her a performance review.

That pop quiz? More like pop-pain.

Teachers should get paid in snacks and patience.

I teach, therefore I groan.

The best teachers grade on a curve… and kindness.

Don’t make me use my teacher voice.

Respect the board—chalk is cheap, but wisdom isn’t.

Why did the crayon cry? It felt drawn out.

Sharing is caring—and also chaotic.

Glue sticks stronger friendships.

My ABCs have ADHD.

Kindergarten: where nap time is sacred.

That joke was preschool-level… thanks!

My coloring outside the lines is artistic rebellion.

Snack time is my core memory.

They don’t pay me enough to tie that many shoes.

Five-year-olds: tiny chaos consultants.

School lunch: mystery meat and mysterious smells.

That pizza slice is older than the teacher.

I traded my soul for a chocolate milk.

Fork it, I’m eating the taco boat.

I brought lunch. It brought tears.

The cafeteria is a battlefield of lunchable proportions.

I can’t ketchup with this mess.

My sandwich expired with hope.

That tray is my emotional support.

Food fight? More like flavor panic.

The wheels on the bus go… nowhere fast.

That seatbelt is a suggestion, apparently.

Assigned seats = assigned enemies.

Bus drivers deserve sainthood.

This isn’t a ride—it’s a patience test.

I lost my homework… again… under the bus.

If chaos had wheels, it’d be this bus.

That backseat life: loud, wild, and legally gray.

Bus smells are a unique science.

The only thing we learned on this bus was survival.

I got a B… for “Barely tried.”

My GPA is emotionally unavailable.

A+ for effort? Nah, more like F+ for flair.

I studied the art of grade-ient disappointment.

I passed—like a kidney stone.

My report card needs counseling.

Grading me is an act of charity.

That F stands for funny, right?

Report card says “see me.” I say “hide me.”

I’m not failing—I’m future-motivated.

“Today’s lunch is edible. Allegedly.”

“Please stop flossing in the hallways.”

“Yes, the fire drill is real this time.”

“No, the school Wi-Fi is still slower than molasses.”

“Attendance matters. Showing up mentally, optional.”

“Lost and found is now just called ‘Lost’.”

“No glitter allowed. Ever again.”

“You can’t major in TikTok. Yet.”

“If you can hear this, you weren’t listening.”

“Teachers are people too. Please be gentle.”

I didn’t forget my homework—I left it emotionally unread.

Homework: where dreams go to die.

My dog wouldn’t eat this garbage either.

That assignment was due last week? Oops squared.

“Do at home” is a strong suggestion.

My procrastination has a PhD.

Homework is just school’s way of haunting you at home.

One worksheet away from a breakdown.

Homework: ruining weekends since forever.

I turned in my homework—into confetti.

You’re on mute. Again.

I wear pajama pants to Algebra.

Zoom school: buffering my brain since 2020.

My Wi-Fi went to recess.

Virtual backgrounds hide my emotional state.

I clicked “leave meeting” spiritually 10 minutes ago.

Is this breakout room or breakdown room?

I didn’t sleep through class—I just screen-napped.

Google Classroom… more like Google Confusion.

Please don’t ask me to unmute my trauma.

Monday is just Friday’s evil twin.

Spirit Week: where fashion dies.

No one remembers Picture Day until it’s too late.

That “half day” felt like eternity.

We live test to test, not day to day.

I celebrate snow days harder than birthdays.

School calendar? More like “guessing game.”

Field trip day > every other day.

We go to school for 9 months and remember 3 memes.

Summer is the sequel to sanity.

That desk has ancient gum fossils.

Why is this chair louder than my thoughts?

Assigned seating is punishment in disguise.

This whiteboard has seen wars.

Classroom temperature: Antarctica to volcano in 30 seconds.

That projector hates us all equally.

I dropped my pencil. I now live under the desk.

Every classroom has a ghost printer.

The SmartBoard is smarter than me.

I breathe marker fumes, therefore I am.

Ice pack = cure for all life problems.

“You’re not sick, you’re dramatic.”

My diagnosis: test avoidance syndrome.

That cot holds more gossip than the internet.

Band-aid economics: supply = 0, demand = endless.

I came in with a paper cut and left with existential dread.

The thermometer is judgmental.

The cure? Go back to class.

I need a hall pass for my emotions.

Nurse says I’m fine. My soul disagrees.

I was born for this role… background tree #4.

My acting range goes from awkward to louder awkward.

“Stage fright” is my default setting.

My monologue made the teacher cry… in pain.

This play is a comedy of errors.

I can’t project my voice or my confidence.

All the world’s a stage… and I forgot my lines.

I nailed it—like a hammer to the head.

Shakespeare would’ve unfollowed me.

My talent is questionable. My drama is not.

I only run late.

Dodgeball = legally sanctioned bullying.

My mile time is “maybe never.”

Stretching? I barely made it out of bed.

The whistle haunts me in my dreams.

That jump rope is judging me.

Push-ups? More like push-don’ts.

I broke a sweat… thinking about gym.

PE = Public Embarrassment.

My only fitness goal is “fit this joke in.”

I came. I saw. I barely passed.

My diploma is 10% paper, 90% panic.

Tossed my cap. Still can’t toss responsibilities.

Goodbye, school. Hello, lifelong student debt!

My GPA and I are taking time apart.

I graduated with a major in Memes and Minors.

Valedictorian of napping.

Summa Cum LOLde.

Tassel worth the hassle? Eh.

I peaked in 3rd grade.

My brain’s out for recess.

Thinking? That’s an elective.

I’m mentally absent but physically present.

My attention span just left the building.

I study best under pressure… and panic.

My brain said “no” before the test started.

I brought a pen but not a plan.

If my brain had a loading bar, it’s buffering.

Study mode: closed tabs, open snacks.

I don’t cram. I compress chaos.