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I've been thinking about getting into ghost therapy. You know, sitting down with a spirit and working through their unresolved issues. It's like, "Tell me about your childhood haunting. Were you a Casper or more of a Beetlejuice?" I can just picture it – a ghost lying on a spectral couch, pouring out its ghostly heart. "I never got closure in my afterlife. And people keep trying to exorcise me. It's so unfair." Maybe all these hauntings are just cries for help, and instead of sage, we should be handing out therapy brochures.
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You ever been to a haunted house? I went to one last week, and I gotta say, the scariest thing was the decor. I mean, c'mon, ghosts, cobwebs, and creepy dolls – that's just my grandma's living room! I went there expecting terror, but all I got was a nostalgia trip. And don't get me started on the ghosts. They're always portrayed as these vengeful spirits, but what if they're just misunderstood comedians? I imagine a ghost trying to tell a joke, but instead of laughter, you just hear eerie giggles. It's like a cosmic open mic night, and we're the unwitting audience.
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You know you're an adult when the scariest ghost is the one haunting your bank account. Seriously, I'm over here trying to save money, and my bank statement is haunting me like, "Remember that coffee you bought last week? I'm still haunting you for it!" And have you ever tried explaining a budget to a ghost? It's like, "Hey, I can't afford to be haunted this month. Can we reschedule for when my paycheck comes in?" But no, ghosts don't understand financial struggles. They're just floating around, giggling at our overdraft fees.
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I recently moved into a new apartment, and I'm convinced it's haunted. Not because of any spooky occurrences, but because my groceries keep disappearing. I mean, who's the ghostly roommate snacking on my leftovers? I imagine Casper in the kitchen, raiding my fridge, leaving ectoplasmic crumbs everywhere. And ghosts are terrible at doing chores. I asked my ghost roommate to do the dishes, and all I heard was giggling. Now my kitchen is a haunted mess. I guess I have a polter-guest instead of a poltergeist.
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