After working with one particular colleague at my last job, I've grown used to a daily enslaught of dad jokes.
Dad jokes are a thing, it seems.
Normally, they are clean enough to relate at work without offending anybody.
Zingers like, What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?" "Sofishticated.
Or, a skeleton walks into a bar and says, 'Hey, bartender. I'll have one beer and a mop...
Yeah, bad.
Or you get the ones from the latest Ted Lasso episode.
There are the slightly dodgier ones, which you think twice about sharing on Teams. Jokes like, I've just watched a documentary on marijuana. I think all documentaries should be watched this way.
Or, It's okay if your phone autocorrects 'fuck' to 'duck.' You're still using fowl language.(That one probably wouldn't get through the work sensors - then again, we're pretty conditioned to obfuscating letters when required.
Or this one. Gonorrhea would have been a great name for diarrhea medicine...
Anyway, tonight's zinger came from the gym. We had our last in person session with Cleo. We've taken possession of her kettle bells - a 12 kg and an eight kg one in the boot of my car waiting to be brought upstairs. Not in the mood tonight. I'll do it over the weekend.
Anyway, tonight's Dad joke comes from Cleo and Jay.
What do you call Mexican Firemen?
Jose and Hose B.
Think about it...
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