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So, I've been doing a lot of online shopping lately, and I swear, every time I see that box on my doorstep, I feel like I'm receiving a gift from my past self. "Oh, what did I get me this time?" It's like Christmas, but with more impulse control issues. But there's a downside to online shopping – the reviews. They're supposed to help you make an informed decision, but half the time, they just confuse me more. I was looking at reviews for a toaster, and someone gave it one star because it didn't play their favorite podcast. I'm sorry, but if you're using a toaster to listen to podcasts, your problems go way beyond burnt bagels.
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I decided to get fit recently, and I signed up for a workout class. It was advertised as a "fun and easy" class. Fun, sure. Easy? Not so much. I walked in, and the instructor was doing things with resistance bands that defied the laws of physics. I'm pretty sure my resistance band was just laughing at me the entire time. And then there's the gym equipment. Have you seen those machines with diagrams that look like a NASA control panel? I tried using one and ended up accidentally broadcasting a workout tutorial on the gym's TV screens. I didn't even know I had those muscles, but apparently, they're excellent at embarrassing me on live television.
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I recently decided to try my hand at cooking, and I thought I'd start simple with scrambled eggs. How hard could it be, right? Well, turns out, pretty hard. I cracked the eggs, started whisking, and suddenly felt like I was in a culinary version of an action movie – shells flying everywhere, eggs rolling off the counter. It was an egg-splosion! And then there's the smoke alarm. It's so sensitive; it goes off if I just look at the stove the wrong way. I'm convinced it's not a smoke alarm; it's a judgment alarm. It goes off to let me know that my cooking skills are a danger to society. "Oh, you're making toast? Better call the fire department!
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You know, I recently got the latest smartphone, and it's like carrying around a little piece of stress in my pocket. The other day, it autocorrected my message to my boss, turning "meeting" into "melting." Yeah, that's exactly what I wanted my boss to think before an important presentation – that I'm melting. Thanks, autocorrect, for turning me into the Wicked Witch of the Office. And don't get me started on predictive text. I was texting my friend about going out for sushi, and it suggested, "Let's go for a lawsuit." A lawsuit? What kind of legal battles is my phone expecting me to have over California rolls? I just wanted some soy sauce, not a subpoena!
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