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Jimbo is the kind of guy who sets five alarms in the morning and hits snooze on all of them. It's like he's conducting a symphony of annoyance for his neighbors. "Ding, ding, ding... snooze, snooze, snooze." I swear he's training for a sleep-deprivation marathon.
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Jimbo is the only guy I know who believes in "car-ma." You cut him off in traffic, and suddenly, you're stuck behind every slow driver in a 10-mile radius. It's like he's got a hotline to the traffic gods or something.
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I was at Jimbo's house the other day, and I swear his TV remote has more buttons than a spaceship. I pressed one wrong button, and suddenly I'm watching a documentary in Swedish about the history of paperclips. I didn't even know I had those channels!
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Jimbo is the only guy I know who goes to the gym and treats the treadmill like a runway. I've never seen someone run so fast without actually moving an inch. It's like he's training for the Olympics of stationary jogging.
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Jimbo and I were at a buffet, and he approached it like he was about to battle an all-you-can-eat dragon. He strategized, scoped out the dessert section first, and then declared, "Today, we feast!" I've never seen someone so passionate about crab legs.
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I went shopping with Jimbo, and he insisted on trying out every recliner in the furniture store. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's preparing for a future career as a professional recliner tester. Move over, mattress firm – here comes recliner Jimbo!
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You know you're at Jimbo's place when you see a stack of takeout menus that rivals the Library of Congress. I asked him if he ever cooks, and he said, "Yeah, I cook up great plans to order pizza.
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You know you're in Jimbo's car when the air freshener has been replaced by a collection of fuzzy dice, bobbleheads, and a dashboard shrine dedicated to his favorite fast-food joint. I asked him if it's distracting, and he said, "Nah, it's my driving dojo." I'm not sure if I should be impressed or terrified.
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