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Dating in the modern world feels a bit like a cattle market. Swipe left, swipe right—welcome to the romantic equivalent of sorting through a herd. And the bios! "I enjoy long walks on the beach and being herded into crowded bars." It's like everyone's auditioning for a role in the romantic comedy of life, but the casting director is a bit too trigger-happy with the rejection button. And then there's the ghosting. One minute you're having a great conversation, and the next, poof! They vanish into thin air. It's like being selected for the lead role and then finding out the whole production was canceled. "Sorry, the romantic interest has left the building.
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You ever notice how the term "cattle call" makes auditioning sound like some bizarre farmyard ritual? I went to an audition the other day, and they lined us up like we were auditioning for the lead role in "Old MacDonald: The Musical." I half-expected a farmer to show up with a clipboard and start pointing at people, going, "E-I-E-I-Oh, you're the one!" I mean, who came up with this term? Did a casting director once lose their script in a field and decide, "You know what? Let's just round 'em up like cows and see who survives the stampede." It's like they want to test not only your acting skills but also your ability to moo convincingly.
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Have you ever called customer service and felt like you're being prodded along like cattle? "Press 1 for this, press 2 for that, press 3 if you've lost the will to live." And you're there, desperately pressing buttons, praying to connect with an actual human being who might understand your problem. I swear, they should replace those automated systems with cattle prods. You press the wrong button, and suddenly, zap! A mild electric shock to get you back in line. It's like they're training us to be obedient little customer service cattle.
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Flying economy these days feels like being part of a cattle drive. You board the plane, and suddenly you're surrounded by more people than you've ever seen in your life—all crammed into a metal tube hurtling through the sky. It's like, congratulations, you've just joined the herd, and your seat is your designated grazing area. And don't get me started on the in-flight meals. They bring you this tray with mystery meat, and you're trying to figure out if it's beef or chicken. It's like playing a high-stakes game of culinary roulette. "Is it Bessie, or is it Cluck-Cluck?" Either way, it's not winning any awards.
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