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The invention of the crumbly cookie has to be a secret plot by laundry detergent companies. I mean, those things disintegrate faster than my hopes and dreams. I take one bite, and suddenly, it's like I've been in a food fight. I need a bib just to enjoy my snack.
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My toaster is so crumby; it's like a perpetual crumb carnival in there. I swear, every time I make toast, it's not breakfast; it's a confetti celebration for my kitchen counter. I'm just waiting for someone to jump out and yell, "Surprise, you've won the Crumbiest Kitchen Award!
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You ever notice how crumby alarm clocks are at understanding the concept of weekends? Monday to Friday, it's "BEEP BEEP BEEP," like a relentless drill sergeant. But Saturday rolls around, and suddenly it's hitting the snooze button like it's getting paid overtime. What happened to equal opportunity wake-up calls?
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Can we talk about how crumby it is when you're excited about leftovers, only to open the fridge and find an empty container? It's like a lunchtime betrayal. I had plans for that pasta, and now I'm left with the empty promises of yesterday's dinner.
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My car is so crumby; it's like a buffet for ants. I leave a few crumbs, and the next day, it's an ant party. I feel like I'm hosting an insect rave in my back seat. I should start charging them an entrance fee or at least provide tiny ant-sized snacks.
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Why do they call it a crumb cake? It's not a cake; it's a conspiracy to keep me vacuuming perpetually. I cut a slice, and suddenly, it's a crumb explosion. I need a hazmat suit just to enjoy my dessert without turning my kitchen into a crime scene.
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You ever notice how crumby Wi-Fi is when you need it the most? It's like, "Oh, you're in the middle of an important video call? Let me just buffer for a minute and give you anxiety sweats." I swear, the Wi-Fi gods are sitting up there, playing a game of 'How Frustrated Can We Make Them?
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You know you're an adult when your idea of a wild Friday night is vacuuming. My vacuum cleaner is my Friday night DJ. I put on some tunes, dance around the living room, and chase those crumby little dust bunnies like they owe me money. It's the cleanest party in town.
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You ever notice how crumby the weather forecast is? I mean, they predict rain, and I'm prepared with my umbrella and raincoat. But all I get is a sprinkle, like Mother Nature's just playing a little prank. It's like, "Thanks for the heads up, weather app. I could've just worn a hat, not turned into the Michelin Man.
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