An overworked elf walks into a bar the day before Christmas and orders a beer. "Hey look everyone! It's an elf!" the bartender exclaims. "I'm sorry, but that phrase is now insensitive and politically incorrect," the elf says. "We prefer to be called subordinate clauses."
He suffered a mental bake-down
Her: Ok. How many letters?
Me: Too many.
And he's not letting anyone go home at reasonable hours or take leave until the big project's . He's been working early mornings and late nights . It's been going on for weeks. they're all tired and homesick. I haven't had a meal with him at home all month which really sucks because he was a great laugh at dinner time. Even when I do see him he's too overworked to even think straight.
Anyway, yesterday Phil, one of his workmates had a brilliant plan.
He turned to my Dad and said to him; "I've had enough of this crap, I'm going home and calling in sick for the next couple of days!"
My dad is amazed. "Phil!" he says, "You can't do that - you'll get sacked!"
"Don't worry, mate," says Phil, "I've got it all worked out." tapping his nose. Out of the blue he reaches up and grabs the ceiling fan (It was off) and hangs upside down from it. My dad has no idea what's going on and tries to ask him, but Phil doesn't answer.
Eventually the boss walks in and asks "Phil - what the Hell are you doing?"
"I'm a lightbulb." replies Phil.
The boss is surprised and realises the guy needs to go home and sends him off for a couple of days. All of a sudden my Dad gets up too and walks away.
"What do you think you're doing?" says the boss.
"You don't expect me to work in the Dark do you?" replies my Dad.
Her: Sure, what is it?
Me: βOverworked postmen.β
Her: But how many letters?
Me: Too many.
Her: Sure. What is it?
Me: The clue is βOverworked Postmanβ.
Her: But how many letters?
Me: Too many.
