On the one hand, stories must be shared. It seems so wasteful for wonderful things to happen and so few people to hear and appreciate them. A great story, even if it features perfect strangers to whom I have no connections, is still a great story. I have heard some great stories in my time, and I would be robbed of great enjoyment had I never heard those stories, from the riotous ones to the inconsequential ones.
Still, I feel as though I cheapen stories in the telling. Once I articulate them, it feels as though I've cleansed my system of them, they've left my mind in the form of words. And naturally this is distressing. If I keep the story to myself, it blooms as I internally explore all the facets of what happened, and I take a certain delight in having my own secret story, my own private joke.
Also, sometimes I am certain no one will appreciate some stupid story as much as I do. Which, honestly, through no fault but my own, is often the case, because I am most often amused by stupid and inconsequential things.
I've noticed, effective speakers often tell stupid stories, but somehow, they make them so hilarious while also so meaningful. So I guess it's all in the telling.