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You ever notice how being a rebel is like a full-time job? I mean, there's no coffee breaks, no vacation days. It's a 24/7 gig. My rebellious spirit even argues with me when I try to take a nap. It's like, "Napping is conforming to the oppressive regime of sleep, man!" I tried being a rebel in the supermarket the other day. I took a cart down the "employees only" aisle. Yeah, apparently, that's where they keep the mops and the secrets to not crying while chopping onions. But hey, a rebel's gotta clean up spills too, right?
But being a rebel is tough. Like, I tried telling my GPS, "You're not the boss of me!" Now, I'm stuck in a cornfield somewhere, and Siri won't stop saying, "Recalculating" with a hint of judgment.
So, being a rebel is cool, but it comes with its challenges. Like, can rebels have dental plans? Or is that selling out? Imagine a rebel with a sparkling smile saying, "Yeah, I fought the system, but I also flossed.
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I decided to be a rebel at the gym. Instead of doing reps, I did interpretive dance. Yeah, I call it "cardio expressive." It confuses the trainers, but hey, I'm breaking a sweat and expressing my inner turmoil. And don't get me started on gym attire. Who decided spandex was only for superheroes? I'm here to save myself from heart disease, and if I want to do it in stretchy pants, so be it. Rebels wear leggings.
I tried using the weight machines backward once. Apparently, that's not how they work. The trainer told me, "You're supposed to lift the weights, not wrestle with them." But hey, I bet my way burns more calories. It's a full-body workout, and I'm engaging my rebellious spirit.
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I'm such a rebel in the kitchen. I don't follow recipes; I follow my heart. And my heart says, "Throw in more cheese." So now, I'm wanted in seven states for unauthorized cheese distribution. But you know you're a rebel when you eat ice cream straight from the carton. The serving suggestion is a suggestion, not a rule! I want to see someone at an ice cream company putting, "Consume responsibly, with a proper bowl and spoon" on the container. Yeah, good luck enforcing that.
I tried cooking a romantic dinner once. Candlelit, soft music, the whole shebang. But apparently, serving cereal and milk isn't considered romantic. I call it "rebel fusion cuisine." The milk was almond, though. I'm health-conscious even when breaking the rules.
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Being a rebel on social media is an art form. I never read the terms and conditions; I just scroll to the bottom and click "I agree." I figure if they wanted me to know something important, they'd put it in a meme. I'm a Facebook rebel. When it asks, "What's on your mind?" I take that as a challenge. I once posted, "Why do we park on driveways and drive on parkways?" Got more comments than my graduation announcement.
And hashtags? I make up my own. Like #RebelWithoutAClue or #NonconformistButStillNeedsCoffee. I'm waiting for the day someone asks me what my hashtag means. I'll just wink and say, "If you have to ask, you'll never know.
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