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They say laughter is the best medicine, but at a country club, the only medicine you'll find is in the form of cucumber-infused water served in a crystal glass. It's so refreshing; I almost forgot I had allergies.
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At a country club, the grass is so meticulously maintained that even if you accidentally drop a peanut, you half-expect a groundskeeper to rush over, performing a five-step hazard removal procedure. It's like walking on a manicured carpet where they've banned both untied shoelaces and imperfections.
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Ever notice how country clubs have that one guy who's always overly enthusiastic about golf? Like, buddy, it's just a game. It's not a secret society where you unlock the mysteries of the universe with every swing. Calm down; it's not the Masters, it's mini-golf for grown-ups.
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Country clubs are the only places where people use valet parking for golf carts. I mean, come on, it's a glorified lawnmower with a roof. You'd think they were handing over the keys to a Ferrari, not a vehicle with a top speed of 12 miles per hour.
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In a country club, every locker room feels like a secret society meeting. It's all hushed tones, whispered golf strategies, and an unspoken agreement to never discuss the time someone missed a putt on the 18th hole. It's like Fight Club, but with more argyle.
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Country clubs love their rules. There's a rule for everything. "No running," "No yelling," "No spontaneous interpretative dance." It's like being in a preschool for adults, but instead of nap time, you get "mandatory etiquette class.
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You ever get lost in a country club? It's like a suburban maze with polo shirts. If you take a wrong turn, you might accidentally stumble into the forbidden realm of tennis courts, and suddenly everyone looks at you like you just crashed the Queen's tea party.
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Country club fashion is a league of its own. It's like everyone's on a perpetual catwalk for the latest in pastel polos and khaki shorts. If you don't own at least three pairs of boat shoes, they might escort you to the exit like you're a time-traveler from the wrong decade.
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Ever notice how country club menus have dishes with names longer than a Shakespearean play? "I'll have the Grilled Organic Chicken Breast Infused with Sage Essence, Garnished with Truffle Butter on a Bed of Handpicked Microgreens." I just wanted a sandwich, not a poetry recital.
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You ever been to a country club pool? It's like a synchronized swimming competition, but instead of medals, they give out memberships to even fancier country clubs. If you're not doing the butterfly stroke perfectly, you might as well be doing the backstroke straight into social obscurity.
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